


Broken in More Ways than One

by HunterChic1807



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe, Big Brother, Broken, Brothers, Hell, Other, Protect, Winchester - Freeform, protector - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-06-15
Updated: 2016-05-22
Packaged: 2018-02-04 18:23:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 12
Words: 24,766
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1788775
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HunterChic1807/pseuds/HunterChic1807
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU. When a hunt goes askew, Dean is kidnapped by hunters for revenge. John tracks them down, but Dean is gone from them too. How does he look for his six-year-old son now? Warning for abuse and other disturbing themes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Taken

  **A/N: This is a new series I've been working on. It's been in my head for months and it was starting to interrupt with my other projects so I decided to just write it down now and see how it goes. I'd love to hear what you guys think of it, and we'll see if I have much spare time to continue it while I'm still working on The Missing Memory. So stay awesome!**

**Disclaimer: Sheesh. I really hate this part. I own nothing and gain nothing from this. The idea and the plot are the only things I own.**

**CHAPTER ONE: Taken**

John Winchester took another swig of the cheap beer he bought on his way to the tiny apartment he got booked for the rest of the weekend. His eldest son, Dean, had gotten back to bed with his one-year-old baby brother after his little boy had tended to the wounds his father had sustained from his latest hunt. The hunter shook his head, doing his best to dispel the tears that had suddenly gathered accumulated in his eyes glazed over with grief.

It has already been more or less six months since his wife Mary had died, but he still couldn't wrap his head around it. He could still smell her lovely perfume from time to time, he could still see her smiling face every time he closed his eyes. And it certainly didn't help that Dean looked like the male version of his dead wife with his hazel eyes and dirty blonde hair. Every time he looked at his son, really looked at him, he could almost see Mary, and that hurt him really bad.

And so, he directed all his vent up frustration and anger and grief into his new job: killing as many evil sons of bitches along the way as he sought out that thing that had taken his beautiful wife away from him. A hunter. That's what he is now.

The monster of this week had been a wendigo. It caught his attention from a news report back from the town they had just left about a week ago. His eyebrows met in the middle as he tried to remember the name of the town, but he came up blank. Hell, he couldn't even remember what it is he had killed wherever that was.  _This is the purpose of this journal_ , he told himself mentally.  _This will be my sons' guide once I'm not here to protect them anymore._

With that still on his mind, he got up from his perch on the couch and snagged his leather jacket from the back of a wooden chair. Dean had fixed him a new set of clothes, along with his lockpick and the keys to the Impala, but he ignored the fresh clothes and instead took the keys. He needed something harder than cheap beer.

Walking on the dark parking lot, he let his mind wander, something he rarely ever does. His brain took him to the hunt he had just finished along with a few other hunters. They killed the thing that's been nabbing campers, but not without injuries. The wendigo had thrown him to a large tree and munched on another hunter named Rogers before they finally set it on fire. It was nobody's fault, but John still felt slightly guilty over the hunter's death. If only he hadn't let that monster get the better of him, the guy might still be alive…

_There's no use thinking about the what-ifs_ , he chided himself.  _It won't bring the dead back to life_. He cringed a little as he realized that that thought encompassed more than just this particular hunt. It told volumes about his own life before that fire. Blaming it on the cold, he instead got into the Impala and drove beyond speed limits to the bar he noticed a mile from the apartment.

Dean Winchester knew all about his dad's job. He knew that something had killed his mom. He knew that he had to take care of Sammy. He knew a lot of things that kids his age shouldn't even think about. But it didn't bother him that he knew all that. He didn't bother that he was given the big responsibility of taking care of his baby brother and making sure he was safe. It made him feel like a big boy, made him feel like someone needed him. But that didn't stop the six-year-old boy from missing his mom.

He still cried about it at night, after he put his brother to bed or when he was eating dinner of Lucky Charms all alone. He wanted to stop crying and stop being such a wimp, but he couldn't help himself. He wanted things to just go back the way they were before the fire. He prayed everyday for the last eight months, one week, and three days. He prayed to the angels that they bring his mom back to them and he promised that he will be a good boy and follow everything his parents told him. But no one ever answered. So he stopped praying. He felt anger at his mom for making him believe that angels existed, but he loved her and he missed her so much to really hate her. He hated believing instead. Obviously, since his mom had been taken so abruptly from them, angels weren't real and they weren't watching her. Believing in them just made him feel complacent and safe when really, he wasn't. There were monsters out there, and believing in angels weren't going to keep him safe. His dad would.

Later on, in the middle of his silent weeping, he heard his dad open the door and close it again. Dean knew that he would probably go to the bar and drink more alcohol so he wouldn't feel sad, and his little heart constricted more painfully. He wanted to take his father's sadness and make it his own so badly so that his daddy wouldn't hurt so much and he wouldn't miss mommy so much. But this is the real world and such things weren't possible. So the little boy settled on crying his eyes out until mercifully, he fell asleep cuddling baby Sammy.

~SPN~SPN~SPN~SPN~SPN~SPN~SPN~SPN~SPN~SPN~SPN~SPN~SPN~SPN~

Dean sat upright in bed, his eyes wide open and his little body trembling slightly. "Just a nightmare," he murmured blinking away the images of fire from his mind. To reassure himself, he lay back down on bed and hugged his baby brother closer to him. He felt the sudden urge to cry again, but then he heard the door to their room opening slowly.

He jumped down from bed and made his way to the door that separated their bedroom from the living room. Opening it by a crack, he gasped as he saw that it wasn't his dad who was inside the room. Closing the door again, hoping the door didn't creak, he went back to get Sammy from the bed. He embraced his little brother fiercely as unadulterated fear tore at his body mind and soul before setting him down on the floor and pushing him under the bed. It would make the little guy cranky once he wakes up under there and he might even have allergies, but Dean was willing to do anything to keep the man outside from hurting his baby brother.

Done with that, his troubled hazel eyes darted quickly all over the room trying to find at least a decent weapon. He was not going to go down without a fight. Spotting just what he needed, he hastily grabbed his dad's iron pen knife from the side table. His dad must've left it there.  _Lucky me_ , Dean thought gravely.

He went back to bed and covered himself with blankets up to his chin, concealing the weapon clutched in his hand. His tiny heart hammered onto his chest as he waited for the man to enter their room and as he did, Dean very nearly died of shock. But no, he wasn't about to let his baby brother down, so he closed his eyes and pretended to sleep.

The man was now halfway across the room, his huge frame blocking the light that was now turned on in the living room. Dean didn't even dare to peek through his eyelids as the man crept closer. Only when the man's face was inches from Dean's and he got a whiff of the rotten smell of this man's breath that Dean pulled his thin arms from under the blanket and plunged his pen knife deep on the man's right shoulder. It only made a flesh wound, but it was all the distraction he needed.

Bleeding Guy, as Dean decided to call him, screamed horribly and made a move to strangle Dean but the boy already shot out of the bed. He ran away from the man on the bed and smacked into another one. It still wasn't his dad.

By this time, he was ready to cry. He didn't know what else he could do to protect Sammy from these men, but he held the tears at bay. It would do no good to show these men how little and scared and helpless he was.

That's when Sammy started to cry himself. He must've woken when Dean stabbed the first man and he screamed. The two guys cornered him and exchanged looks.

Bleeding Guy asked, "Should we take the other one too?"

"Nah, it will be enough trouble handling this toddler without another baby crying and pooping all over my car," the other taller one answered. Squinting at his partner, he asked, "What happened to your shoulder?"

"Kid stabbed me with a pen knife," Bleeding Guy grumbled, pointing an accusing finger at Dean.

His partner looked at Dean, amused, a very evil glint in his eyes, "He got the better of you?"

"Screw you!"

"Where'd you hide your brother, kid?" Tall Man asked.

Dean just glared at him.

"I said, where's your brother!?" he thundered, looking like he might hit Dean if he didn't answer, but the six-year-old stood his ground. "Search the room," he ordered Bleeding Guy instead.

That got a response from Dean. "Just take me and leave my brother alone!" he screamed, terrified at what these guys might do to his one-year-old brother.

Both men stared at him, unsure on how to take Dean's words. Tall Man narrowed his eyes at Dean, studying him. Upon seeing the determined look on the child's face, he decided to take his words. "Yeah, we should do that," he said, directing his words to Bleeding Guy. "John might come home anytime."

With a steel grip, Tall Man led the six-year-old to his car, waiting long enough for Bleeding Guy to sit beside the boy in the passenger seat and took Dean Winchester away.

~SPN~SPN~SPN~SPN~SPN~SPN~SPN~SPN~SPN~SPN~SPN~SPN~SPN~SPN~

John was thoroughly wasted when he stumbled out of the bar. He'd had too many shots of whiskey and was in no shape to drive. But being the stubborn man that he was, he still did. He was back to their apartment in a matter of fifteen minutes, longer that it would've took him if he was sober.

The alcohol, however, was driven away from his system at the sight that greeted him as he approached their humble abode. The front door was flapping along with the breeze.

He ran the rest of the way and staggered inside, the hairs on the back of his neck on end. There was a pool of blood by the door to his sons' bedroom and that's where he lurched into next. His bloodshot eyes scanned the dark room, searching for a sign that either of his sons were still here. Panic was wreaking havoc in his chest, making breathing a laborious task.

Suddenly, he heard faint sniffling from somewhere inside the room. He recognized it immediately as his youngest, knowing full well that Dean would never in any circumstance make that kind of noise after what happened last November.

Finally, he found his little baby under the bed, his face tear-streaked and blotchy. Snot was running freely from his nose as John pulled him to his chest and wrapped his arms around the boy. He had a moment of respite as he did so, but then he remembered his other son.

He looked for him all over the small apartment but he was not to be found. Ultimately, he was forced to admit to himself that Dean wasn't anywhere in the apartment. Hell, maybe he wasn't even in this state! Maybe whatever came in here just— No, he wasn't going anywhere near there. His son was alive, and that's the only way John would see it.

 

 

 


	2. Lost

**Disclaimer: I'm still saving money to buy the ownership of Supernatural from my good friend Kripke but for technicality's sake, no, SPN is not mine. Not yet anyway.**

**CHAPTER TWO: Lost**

Dean was cold. He hugged himself even tighter in an attempt to warm himself, but it did him no good. He had the vaguest idea that he was in the middle of a roaring snow storm, but he had no clue why he would even be out in that kind of weather.

Suddenly, a loud wailing filled the air around him. _Sammy,_ he instantly thought. Uncurling his small body, he stood up to find his baby brother. _How's Sammy here? Did these bad men take him too? No, no, that can't be…_ "SAMMY!" he screamed.

"Hey, wake up, kid!" nine-year-old Ariana shook the new boy awake. His body was convulsing on the cold tiled floor, a steady stream of tears pouring from his closed eyes. She tried again and again to just ignore him, but his blood-curdling scream undid her self-built discipline.

"Sam! Sammy…needs me! He won't…b-be able to sleep to-night, Daddy doesn't know how! Please, take me home! I-I need to take care of my baby bro-ther," he said in between sobs. The young boy's voice broke, and with it, Ariana's heart broke for him. She was sorely tempted to help the boy escape despite the certainty of the beatings she'll receive afterwards.

Ariana did her best to calm him down before George and the others returned. She was sure that George would be annoyed at the racket he was making, and this young boy would be black and blue by the time he was done with him. But still, he continued to cry like it was the end of the world and she was at lost as to what to do.

Finally deciding that there wasn't anything she could do to make him feel better, she instead settled for cradling him with her too-thin arms onto her too-thin body. Strands of her dark brown hair tickled her eyes, but she didn't lift a hand to fix it. She just hugged the blonde boy to her chest, whispering soothing words that her mother used to tell her when she was little.

Eventually, Dean tired of crying. His voice was hoarse and terribly parched from screaming his little brother's name and his eyes were heavy from exhaustion. He had no idea where he was, but temporarily, he felt contented from the warm embrace that surrounded him. All he felt was bones, but he was satisfied for now. Finally, when he could barely keep his eyes open, he heard the opening of a strange lullaby as he was rocked back and forth.

~SPN~SPN~SPN~SPN~SPN~SPN~SPN~SPN~SPN~SPN~SPN~SPN~SPN~SPN~

A shuffling noise alerted Dean that someone was walking towards him. He might not be big enough to handle the big guns like his daddy, but he had taught Dean the most basic skills of survival. _Stay alert even as you sleep._ He could almost hear his daddy's voice even.

Through the thick haze of unconsciousness, he instantly determined that he was in a small room that had no windows and only one door. He saw it as his only means of escape.

When the door did open, the five-year-old boy was surprised to see that it was a girl, an extremely thin and unkempt girl with big eyes the color of melted chocolate. The thought made his stomach growl in protest. He hadn't gone this long without food. _How long had I been away? How did Sammy sleep last night?_ A million questions ran through his overly matured mind at once.

"Hi," the girl greeted quietly, carrying a loaf of bread on each hand. "Breakfast?"

Resolving that the girl was harmless and could be trusted for now, if only for the food she held aloft, Dean nodded uncertainly.

Ariana approached the small boy hesitantly like she would a hurt caged animal. She stopped a feet in front of his half-asleep form and handed the bread she scavenged from the kitchen. Despite her suspicion from last night, George and his friends didn't come home last night. Without a doubt, they spent another night out getting wasted. She still had no idea how, when and where they took the boy from. _Maybe I can ask him today._

Dean took what she offered, assessing it meticulously before taking a huge bite of the bread. It was stale and flavorless, but he couldn't look a gift horse in the mouth. If it filled his painfully empty stomach, then it was enough.

"Where am I?" he asked in between mouthfuls of bread.

"I don't really know. I've never been outside before," Ariana answered bashfully. The little kid who had, only last night, been crying his eyes out is now acting like there was nothing wrong with the situation. He was unlike any other kid George and his friends brought in. He inspired a sense of hope that Ariana had long since buried deep inside.

"What's your name?" she asked all of a sudden. Ariana immediately clamped a hand on her mouth in fear. Her brain knew that the kid in front of her isn't anything like George, but it was a force of habit to avoid speaking out of turn. It was one of the things George hated the most.

"Er, Dean." The five-year-old decided to ignore the older girl's bizarre reaction. "You?"

No one has ever asked the girl for her name before, not even the other kids, so it unsettled her to be asked now. "A-Ariana..." she answered uncertainly.

"Nice to meet you, A-Ariana, but I need to go now. My brother needs me."

"Sammy?" she asked again.

Dean raised an eyebrow at that, "How'd you know that?"

"You were calling out his name in your sleep," she answered, embarrassed to have been caught listening in when he was sleeping. She seemed to be speaking freely around Dean too much.

However, Dean was equally embarrassed. His daddy had never said he talked in his sleep so it came as a surprise to him now that he did. It mortified him to think that anybody near him when he slept could've heard him babble on about his fears and vulnerabilities. "Did I say anything else?"

Ariana noticed the boy's agitation, so she shook her head for 'no', "You just said his name a couple of times. I guess you miss him a lot."

One of the things his daddy had taught Dean was to know if a person was lying or not. It would be a useful ability in case his dad was copied by a shapeshifter or possessed by a demon since he was still too small to fight. That's why Dean immediately knew that Ariana was lying to him. But even more, he admired her effort in keeping him as comfortable as possible.

"Oh. Okay. Well, I really need to get going now. It'll be harder to track my family once the trail gets cold."

"You can't leave," Ariana whispered in despair. The boy still didn't know who-or what-he was dealing with and she was sure that that fire burning in him now would soon burn itself out or die out once George started with him.

"Why not?" Dean challenged, tilting his chin defiantly.

"You'll see soon enough."

As if to prove her words, the front door just outside the room they were in burst open. A rowdy group of three men entered soon thereafter, laughing boisterously and obviously drunk, pushing each other playfully like guys half their age. Ariana stiffened in response, but Dean just looked on indifferently past the open door.

"Go on in, I just hafta deal with somethin'," one of the guys told his friends, staring back at the two children with a storm brewing in his eyes.

The other two continued goofing off as the apparent leader of their group strode towards Ariana and Dean. A staticky noise was heard somewhere in the cabin and nothing else as the man approached the two like a lion would its prey.

"What do ya think yer doin', ya li'l skank!?" he suddenly bellowed in fury.

 _He's deranged,_ was the first thought that ran through Dean's mind before he was astounded when the guy slapped Ariana so hard she was tossed towards the other side of the room. Dean's protective instincts kicked in and he found himself rushing the guy to the wall. Or at least that's what he had in mind.

Buff Guy didn't even budge an inch. He just ogled at Dean like he was some annoying pest that was stuck to his body. He smiled a malicious grin before lifting Dean a few inches off the ground by grasping his blonde hair. "Hey, you're the new kid, eh? I see you've got some fireball in you. You're a hunter's child, right? Wonder why yer daddy wanted to get rid of you."

At first, Dean struggled against Buff Guy. His mom had always said she loved his hair best next to his dark hazel eyes, so he never let anyone touch it after the fire. He managed to take a bath and cut it short all on his own just to avoid anyone coming in close contact with his hair. Well, except for Sammy, that is. Sammy was always the exception to the rules. But when Dean heard what Buff Guy said about his dad wanting to get rid of him, he just lost the will to fight him off. "He-he did?"

Raucous laughter answered Dean and Buff Guy dumped him on the floor. Dean noticed neither. His head was spinning from what he just heard. His dad didn't need him anymore, and it hit him somewhere irrepairable. Losing interest in him, Buff Guy left the room, calling behind him for Ariana, "Get some popcorn going, you worthless piece of shit!"

That snapped Dean a little from his stupor. "Ariana..." he whispered.

The girl was just rising from where she ended up. It was only then that Dean noticed all the faint scars and fading bruises the older girl sported. At his worried look, Ariana managed a weak smile, though her right cheek looked like it was painted bright red, "I'm okay, Dean. Stay here for nine years and you'll get used to it." Ariana laughed in morbid humor. "Just do what he tells you to, don't do the stuff he hates, steer clear of him whenever you can and you'll survive."

"But why do you let him treat you like that!?" It enraged Dean to see her suffering needlessly. "You could help me escape! We'll get help or something..."

Dean trailed off at Ariana's resigned look as she limped to the door slightly. She chanced one last look at Dean and said, "Welcome to hell, Dean."

~SPN~SPN~SPN~SPN~SPN~SPN~SPN~SPN~SPN~SPN~SPN~SPN~SPN~SPN

It took Dean awhile, but he soon got the lay of the land.

Buff Guy's name is George. His buddies were named Felix and Leon. Together they run a child pornography circle-whatever on Earth that is, Ariana wouldn't tell-in a relatively spacious cabin in the middle of Georgian forest. So far, Dean was still 'unusable' because he still didn't know the 'basics' so he was, gratefully, as innocent as he'll ever be. Max, a thirteen-year-old young boy who's been here since he was ten, was in-charge of Dean's 'training'. The older boy was yet to do as he was told, and Dean was grateful for an extra few days to think of a way out.

Now, he was supposed to clean the whole cabin alone as a punishment for answering back yet again. He had started by scrubbing the old wooden floors first for the first three hours after breakfast, then he began to wipe the grimy windows with a piece of cloth. For the Winchester, it was probably the worst punishnent of all time. He'd gladly take getting beat up unconscious over this domesticity.

Every cut and slice, all the bruises he received from those men had him imagining that he was just on a typical hunt with his dad, getting battered up because he let his guard down for a little while. It still hurt him a great deal each time he remembered George saying that his dad just gave him away, but feeling the intense pain of knives or fists against his skin and flesh erased all that. It didn't matter if his daddy didn't want him anymore. Sammy. Sammy was his sole priority, and maybe, just maybe, if he made it back to them on his own, his dad will change his mind about him.

With that happy thought in mind, Dean just endured what Ariana called as Hell. He swore to himself and to Sammy that he'll make it out of here alive, and he intended to honor that promise. _Who knew, maybe dad would even be proud of me and want me around again once I prove to him that I'm strong enough to protect my little brother._

So Dean arranged a plan of escape just a few days after he met Ariana. He'd figured out how to snake an extra set of keys from George's room, he'd managed to pack himself meager supplies a few days' worth, and he had a rough idea on how to get to the highway as fast as he could, but only if his plan went through. The only problem now was finding the right time for execution.

Approximately three or four months into his confinement (he lost count), Dean finally got the opportunity he was waiting for. George was the only adult left in the cabin-the other two we're dealing with something in town while their leader nursed the worse hangover of the century. Dean knew exactly what to do in this situation (his dad has had many just like it), but he hated the very idea of helping the monster who's hurt all the kids he kept here away from their parents. _Besides, this is my perfect opportunity,_ he told himself.

While George took his customary shower later that afternoon, Dean slipped in as quietly as he could into the man's room. Tip-toeing across, he reached for the extra set of keys on the bedside table and lifted it painstakingly slow so it wouldn't jingle. Keeping an ear out for the sound of the shower, Dean placed the keys inside his tattered jeans pocket and began to go back the way he came, carefully checking each step to prevent the old wood from betraying him.

He pulled the door open in victory, only to gasp in surprise when a now-familiar face appeared before him. "Hey," he managed to choke out.

"So you're really going through with it?" she asked, her nose flaring in outrage.

"Yeah, do you have a problem with it?" Dean retorted, reflecting the unexplained anger that Ariana was now displaying. _She's usually such a nice girl. I wonder what her problem is,_ Dean thought irritably.

"How many times do I have to tell you there's no leaving this place!?" They've had this same conversation time and time again, and the girl already knew where this was headed. Dean would shrug it off and go do what he wants in the way that he wants.

Dean snickered at her, animosity clearly in his eyes. "Maybe for you. But unlike you, I'm not too afraid to do something about the situation. I have a brother to come home to, and I sure am going to soon."

Tears came to Ariana's eyes, much to her dismay. "Good for you." She walked away before he could say anymore.

The Winchester immediately felt guilty. Dean's first instinct was to just let it be. He didn't know exactly what he did wrong, but he knew he'd upset her very much to warrant those tears and it didn't sit well with him. She's been over-the-top nice with him even though she barely knew him, and it probably kept him alive more than he would care to admit. He owed her too much to just let it be.

Closing the door behind him-thank God George remained oblivious to their confrontation-Dean followed the direction Ariana took but he didn't want to call her attention in case George was done with his bath and came to check why he was shouting. He found her partially hidden behind some boxes that were never unpacked in a dark and musty corner of the cabin's second floor, hugging her legs to her chest and silently sobbing.

Dean's heart repositioned itself in his stomach. He didn't know how to deal with a crying Ariana. He's seen a sad Ariana, a happy Ariana, a worried Ariana, and an angry Ariana but never had the girl cried, in front of him anyway. "Hey," he whispered softly, guilt clawing at his chest. He did this to her. He needed to fix it himself.

"Please don't..." she croaked in a voice so broken that left Dean in panic.

"Ariana, I don't- I can't- What do you want me to do?" he groaned, running a hand through is uncharacteristically long dirty blonde hair in agitation. He didn't want to put Ariana in so much pain and misery but Dean couldn't even entertain the idea of abandoning his plan. He couldn't bear the thought of never seeing his baby brother again, especially when he could've done something about it.

"Luke, please, no... It's crazy, it's foolhardy, it's...it won't work! He's gonna kill you! Please, Luke, listen to me... Please."

With a start, Dean realized Ariana wasn't talking to him anymore. He reached out for her to lift her face towards the light. He managed to do so without much restraint. The girl's eyes were glazed over, and she appeared to be incoherent of her surroundings. "Ariana?"

"Luke... You're back!" she breathed, seeming completely normal. But she obviously wasn't.

"I'm not Luke. Ariana, it's Dean," he said gently but firmly. "Don't you remember?"

"Not Luke? Dean?" Understanding slowly dawned on Ariana's face. "Oh." Her cheeks flamed red in embarrassment. "Oh, right. Uhm..." Ariana wouldn't even look at him.

"Who's Luke?" Dean asked.

Ariana was sorely tempted to lie, but she found herself too tired to continue the act. _Maybe if he knew, he wouldn't leave._ Ariana convinced herself futilely, because she knew in her heart that nothing short of the end of the world could stop Dean. "Luke is...my brother," she answered anyway. Before she lost her guts, Ariana rambled on. "We were together when George and his men took us from a park in Phoenix, Arizona. My brother, he was always too hardheaded and impulsive and I keep telling myself there's nothing I could've done, but that would be a lie. I let my brother die. It's my fault!"

"Ariana... I'm sure it wasn't your fault." Dean pulled her in for a hug. It felt weird trying to comfort someone older than him, but Dean set aside that thought for a moment and just held her.

"No! You don't know what happened-" Ariana exclaimed hysterically, trying to get away from Dean's embrace.

The boy held on tight as sobs racked her thin frame and they stayed that way for what seemed like an eternity. Eventually, Ariana calmed down enough so when she pulled away again, Dean let her go. Her eyes were bloodshot as they looked to him for solace; Dean offered his trademark troublemaker smirk and helped her up.

~SPN~SPN~SPN~SPN~SPN~SPN~SPN~SPN~SPN~SPN~SPN~SPN~SPN~SPN~

Time passed by quickly. Or slowly. Either way, Dean wouldn't really know. There were no clocks in the cabin to tell the exact time. The only way they could be sure whether it was day or night was by the amount of sunlight that filtered through the boarded up windows. Even their meals didn't have a definite schedule. They just ate when they were hungry or when they had food.

Dean and Ariana had talked about his escape plans, albeit reluctantly on the girl's part. She had also offered a few details about her brother, again, reluctantly. Still, Dean didn't have any idea what happened that scared Ariana so much. He assumed that the little boy didn't survive, although he didn't push her into telling any more than she wanted to.

Sooner rather than later, Dean was once again ready to leave Hell, and this time, it was with Ariana's help.


	3. Escape

  **Disclaimer: Dean and Sam are mine. So friggin' sue me!**

**CHAPTER THREE** **: Escape**

It was all going according to plan. Well, that is until everything went to Hell. Literally.

First, the sleeping pills Ariana slipped into the three men's bottles of beer wore off a little too soon. And then Dean was nearly knocked into oblivion by one of George's minions. And then George himself got ahold of his gun and fired haphazardly.

For a frightening moment, Dean had the sudden urge to stop running and just give up. If it wasn't for the older girl pulling him along, he would've easily crumbled. It seemed like forever for Dean, but a few minutes later, he and Ariana paused to catch their breath. At any other circumstance, Dean would've admired the immaculate snow falling all around them. Being the protective brother that he was, he never got the chance to play outside in the snow. But that didn't matter to him now. All he could really focus on was getting out of this cursed wilderness. They resumed their hike.

Another volley of shots, much too close for comfort, rang out again somewhere to their north. All of a sudden, Dean felt like those monster his dad came after. All of a sudden, he wasn't the hunter anymore. He was the hunted.

Ariana and Dean looked at each other in scared silence. "We seem to be going in circles," the girl whispered, although there was no one around to hear them.

Dean didn't know what to say to that. He had placed the both of them in this perilous situation, and dumbly, he couldn't think of a clever enough solution to get them both out safely.

"There's only one way to go about this," Ariana announced. "We have to go back." Before Dean could voice his protest, Ariana continued. She seemed to have given this much thought. "We panicked earlier, and lost our way. We have to retrace our steps and follow the plan to the letter. Alright?"

The five-year-old nodded mutely. He didn't like it, but Ariana was right.

Stealthily, they approached the source of the gunshots. They agreed that that would be the best bet to start retracing their steps. Thankfully, George didn't seem to find the need to follow them into the woods. He was only a few meters away from the cabin, firing buckshots at anything that moved.

The plan would've worked smoothly if Dean hadn't stepped on a twig and alerted George of their location. Seconds later, they were running for their life again. Only this time, the two had a better sense of direction. Hope reared its ugly head inside Dean's heart.

George fired after them, but none of the shots hit their target. Or so Dean thought.

The young boy chanced a look at the girl running beside him. A sheen of sweat was covering most of her skin, and she gritted her teeth almost like she was scared she would scream if she didn't. That's when Dean noticed the crimson liquid seeping into her parka on her left arm. "Ariana!"

The nine-year-old tugged the boy along even as he stumbled in shock. A bullet seemed to have grazed her before they got to turn around after George spotted them, but she willed herself to ignore the pain. She had to get Dean to safety.

About a mile along, Ariana's eyesight was failing her. Her limbs felt like lead, and it took tremendous effort to keep herself moving. Finding a bunch of trees clumped together, she hid herself and Dean for a quick rest. Her breathing was shallow and her throat was parched, but they only had one canteen of water and she decided to give it to the kid. Rummaging inside her pack, she pushed the container into Dean's gloved hands and forced him to drink.

Ariana knew they couldn't keep running forever. The edge of the forest was still far off. George wasn't a good shot, but he had managed to graze Ariana. They needed a distraction, and there was a good one she could think of. "Dean. We need a distraction."

There was a wild look on Dean's face but the implication of her words wasn't lost on him. "No. No, we stick together. No matter what. Follow the plan to the letter. You said so yourself."

"Sometimes we have to improvise and improve the plan, little brother," Ariana murmured, caressing his cheek for the last time. She thrust the backpack onto his chest as Dean stood there, stunned. "You're the best thing that ever happened to me, Dean. You taught me how to stand up for myself. You taught me that some things are worth fighting to the death for. But most importantly, you gave me a reason to live again. And for that, thank you. It's just so lame I couldn't enjoy this freedom with you." Before he could recover from his shock, Ariana left him there standing with his mouth wide open and ran the direction they were running from.

It was time she faced her fear. It was time she fought back.

~SPN~SPN~SPN~SPN~SPN~SPN~SPN~SPN~SPN~SPN~SPN~SPN~SPN~SPN~

When Dean realized he was lost in the woods, all alone and totally defenseless, he began to panic. He still remembered all that his father had taught him about combat but they seemed to make no sense to him in that situation. Any of the monsters his daddy fought could come at him right now, and there would be nothing he could do to stop himself from being monster chow.

With a desperation brought on by those thoughts, Dean forged on through the thick undergrowth. Thorny plants scratched him as he swiped them away from his path, but he didn't pay them any attention. A bunch of little scratches and cuts would be a hell of a lot better than ending up as dinner for some gross woodland monster.

Dean suddenly realized that he himself hadn't eaten anything since the cold soup Ariana prepared for lunch. That seemed like a lifetime ago now.

But there wasn't any time for thinking about food. The five-year-old had to think about _surviving_ _the night._ The sun had set a long time ago; exactly how long, Dean couldn't begin to figure out. Time meant so little to him as his head spun trying to figure out which way to go. He felt like he's been going in circles.

Hot tears mixed with the sweat on the little boy's face. _This is hopeless. Ariana sacrificed herself for nothing,_ he thought forlornly. He didn't have any clue where he was or how to get out of this damned forest. Every step he took made him more tired and more helpless. All of a sudden, a rustling of leaves behind him made him take a miscalculated step and he crashed face first down a steep hill.

"ARGH!" came his inevitable muffled scream.

His face still connected flatly on the ground a few minutes later, the young boy lay unmoving, sensing all that he could in his environment and mentally assessing his body. Nothing seemed broken. He was very sure that he heard movement directly behind him so he waited for a while to see if anything would follow. When he was sure nothing will, he began to right himself again, only to cry out in pain once more as he fell back in the direction of gravity's pull.

Inspecting his painful right ankle, Dean was alarmed to see that it was badly sprained. He could still walk, most probably, but it will be very slow and very painful. Not only that, but he could barely see a meter in front of him. "When did it get so dark?" he grumbled ill-temperedly, doing his best to squash the panic that was taking root in his stomach. Dean hated the dark.

He managed to hobble a good distance at least before Dean collapsed again. He was by now drenched in a mix of sweat, tears and blood. Dean tried standing up after moment's rest, but unbearable pain shot up his entire leg, crippling him. For minutes that seemed like forever for the little boy to be completely engulfed in darkness, Dean just lay there stock still. He didn't dare move for each single movement seemed to amplify the scorching sensation on his injury. Dean just listened to the nighttime nature sounds, attempting to calm himself down enough to be able to actually think. He wouldn't let such a mundane thing as a sprained ankle lead to his premature death.

Suddenly, there came the rustling sounds again, this time a lot closer for Dean's comfort. Propping himself on his elbows, Dean crawled the little space between himself and a sturdy-looking tree trunk. There was a hollow in the middle that he can hide in for the time being. He was then grateful that he was still small enough to fit in tight spaces.

Dean heard the rustling again, followed by a figure emerging from the bushes a foot away from Dean a minute ago. The middle Winchester's breathing halted.

"Is anyone there?" a shaky voice asked hesitantly.

_It's human!_ Dean's mind screamed at him. Scrambling out of his hiding place in an instant, Dean answered in an uncharacteristically high voice, "I'm here! Please, I need help!"

A beam of light fell on Dean's face just as he got out of the cramped tree trunk. His right hand went to his face to shield it while the other went out to steady himself on one foot. "Please," he croaked, his emotions running amok. "I need help."

That was the last thing Dean Winchester could remember before darkness claimed him once more.

~SPN~SPN~SPN~SPN~SPN~SPN~SPN~SPN~SPN~SPN~SPN~SPN~SPN~

Dean was grateful his sleep hadn't been marred by nightmares. There was a pleasing coolness on his forehead, a respite against the constant searing hotness in his flesh. _Maybe that's what happens when you're too tired,_ he mused. _Or when you're dead._

With that alarming thought, his eyes shot open and he bolted upright from where he was laying, his hands positioned ready to fight. What he saw was definitely not what the boy was expecting. He was in a bed in a room that didn't reek of alcohol. A wooden chair was beside the bed where a lady sat fast asleep. A damp cloth had fallen between his legs, on top of the blanket secured around his legs.

The Winchester couldn't prevent a sob as he remembered the episode in the forest. Ariana had sacrificed herself for his freedom. And he didn't do anything to save her. He didn't even try to stop her.

Mikhail Leeson was jarred awake by a tiny sob. She opened her eyes to see a crying little boy on the bed. His skin was still too flamed for her liking, but what bothered her the most was the heartwrenching sound he was making. He reminded her too much of the sone she never had. She collected the little boy to her chest and sat him on her lap without a word, careful not to touch the splint on his sprained ankle. The boy didn't make any move to halt her motherhenning as she whispered soothing words in his ears, too busy crying in his trauma. He promptly fell asleep again in her arms. For fear of waking him up, Mikhail didn't deposit him back to the bed but instead hugged him even tighter.

She woke up again as sunlight entered the room through the translucent curtains, but there was a comfortable burden on her chest this time. Nestled so close to her was the young boy her husband Larry rescued from the woods late last night. It would be by pure luck that he found the boy. Larry Leeson was a forest ranger and had been doing his usual rounds of the hiking trail. He hadn't mean to stray so far from his designated area, but now he was glad he did, and so was his wife.

The blonde boy was scratched and bruised on a thousand different places and he had a badly sprained ankle it was a wonder he even managed to stay conscious for as long as he did when he was found. Larry brought him home when he passed out right then and there, and his wife tended to the boy's injuries.

When Mikhail shifted into a more comfortable position, the boy opened his eyes wide in pure terror. Mikhail could practically hear the thudding in his chest. "Ssh. You're safe here."

Dean relaxed a little, but didn't let his guard down even though he _did_ feel safe somewhat. The woman's arms around him was so warm and soft it immediately reminded him of his mommy when she was still alive. She would often hug him like this whenever he got scared or woke up from a particularly terrifying nightmare. Dean immediately felt the traitor tears slipping down his face. He ground his teeth together until he got them in control.

"Would you like some food?" Mikhail asked the boy gently. The way he stopped his tears from falling hadn't escaped her, and her heart clenched so tightly in response it almost left her breathless. _What had this young boy suffered to let him control his emotions like that?_

Against his will, Dean nodded. Just the thought of food had his mouth watering.

Feeling his assent, Mikhail carried the boy downstairs. Larry was in kitchen duty since it was his day off from work and already, Mikhail could smell the bacon and eggs sizzling on a pan. Soft classical music was playing in the background as he played chef in the kitchen.

When Larry saw his wife carrying the little boy into the kitchen, a smile lit up his face. It relieved him to see that at least the boy was awake now, although his face remained resolutely pensive, giving the impression that he's seen much more than he should have. It didn't fit his young face at all.

"Breakfast, anyone?" he invited cheerfully.

Mikhail placed a finger on her lips in a gesture of silence and sat Dean on a bar stool. He seemed reluctant to let go, but he did unclench his fist and let himself be ushered onto a seat. Larry placed a plate of bacon and eggs in front of him and the OJ he had prepared earlier. Dean just stared at the food and then looked back at Mikhail beside him.

"You need to eat at least a little," Mikhail coaxed. "Come on, just a teensy weensy bit?" she said again, holding a strip of bacon between her thumb and index finger.

The woman really reminded Dean of his mom. He didn't know if he should be happy about it or if he should cry. Dean took a strip of bacon for himself and began to nibble at one end the way he learned to at Hell. He savored the flavor before taking an experimental sip of juice. When he finished just what he took, he looked at the woman again as if challenging her to ask him to eat more. With a sigh, Mikhail resigned herself into making sure he would eat more later. "Do you want another bath?"

He hadn't noticed before, but now that he thought about it, Dean realized that he was not in his own clothes. The foreign clothing didn't look new, but they were at least not three sizes too big. The clothes that he wore the night he was brutally taken away from his family had acted like a tenuous connection to his real life as John Winchester's eldest son and Sam Winchester's older brother. He kept it all these months even though they had so many holes that rivaled a Swiss cheese, and now, just like that, they were gone. "Where're my clothes?" he asked in a shaky voice he didn't recognize.

Mikhail, sensing his panic, made something up out of the blue. She told him they were in the laundry, but the truth was she had already thrown them out the night before. A silent communication passed between the Leesons and Larry went outside to look for it. "Do you want to take a bath, sweetie?"

Dean shook his head, barely awake now. Sighing heavily, he let Mikhail carry him back upstairs to the room he occupied. He was fast asleep before his head touched the pillow.

~SPN~SPN~SPN~SPN~SPN~SPN~SPN~SPN~SPN~SPN~SPN~SPN~SPN~

For days on end-maybe weeks or months, he didn't really know-Dean wandered the roads. He was in pain, tired, hungry and very dirty but he never lost hope that he'll find his daddy and little brother soon if only he kept going. Whenever his sprained ankle hurt, he dry swallowed a half pill of aspirin. He didn't know if children were supposed to take such medication or what dosage to follow, so he kept it to a bare minimum.

He left the Leesons place about a week after they took him in. They were very nice to him which was in stark contrast to the way he's been living after that fateful night, and he was very much tempted when they offered to let him stay forever. But he just couldn't. It scared him even more that he even considered staying. So he left in the dead of the night. Disabling the alarms and enabling them again once he was out was easy once he knew the codes. With a thank you note in his barely legible scrawl.

On the streets, Dean avoided detection by the authorities like his life depended on it because he knew that once they were made aware of his situation, there was a very big possibility that his daddy would get in trouble for it.

During the last few days, however, Dean was starting to lose his optimism. Many times, he wondered if his dad was even looking for him. _He must think I'm so stupid to have been taken so easily. I won't ever see him...or Sammy._ The thought of the toddler he left behind brought a lump to the little kid's throat. Tears sprung to his eyes as he realized he'll never see Sammy grow up anymore, never see him smile at him like the sun rose and set with his older brother's every word.

The young child looked out of place alone strolling with the fast-paced crowd. He passed by a donut stall, recalling Sam's very first donut. _Geez, he smeared icing all over his face then!_ he thought wistfully. _Even Daddy laughed at that._

Next to the donut stall was a shop that sold TVs. One of the idiot boxes was showing the news report of the day, and Dean immediately felt moisture in his eyes as he managed to read the date on the screen. It was already past Christmas and New Year. It was January 24th.

Dean ignored the stares he was earning from the rush-hour crowd as he let the tears flow down his cheeks. He didn't care what they thought about him anymore. Hell, they can even call those Child Protection Services. He just wanted to sing his baby brother to sleep like his mommy used to and greet him good morning with a tickle fight when he woke up. He just wanted to see little Sammy one more time and tell him that he loved him, that he'll be with him no matter what happened.

"Hey, kid! Stop!"

The scream broke Dean from his reverie and he looked up to see who had shouted. A horrified expression pasted on the faces of the onlookers made him realize two things at once. One was that he was in the middle of the road unthinkingly; and two, a speeding truck was coming his way.

He should've moved his body. He should've avoided the truck. There was still enough time to do that and still avoid being discovered by the CPS. But Dean's limbs seemed to have stopped functioning and ignored the impulses his brain sent them. His other body parts functioned perfectly, however. His breathing came out in short gasps as his brain analyzed the incoming threat, and his eyes dilated in fear. But it wasn't the fear of the unknown you feel a few seconds before death. Dean feared not seeing his family again more than he feared death. Even more than that, Dean couldn't face the possibility of not seeing Sammy again-no, scratch that-the fact that Sammy will never know he had a big brother who loved him so very much. No one will protect him from the bullies at school, and he wouldn't even wonder about the what-ifs. _Maybe it's better this way._

Unlike the things he'd seen in movies, time didn't slow down enough for Dean's short life to flash before his eyes. Only one face came to him as he closed his eyes to face his fate: the image of a chubby face framed with curly dark brown hair, smiling brightly and babbling the only sentence he knew at the tender age of one, "I wuv yooo Dee!"

First came the sudden but anticipated impact slamming onto his small body, and then Dean felt excruciating pain that defied description. Every bone in his body seemed to have been crushed, and his heart stopped and restarted in no particular rhythm. He had gotten hurt before, but never to this extent. Then, as if somebody heard his wordless plea, Dean felt numb, bone-chilling numbness that echoed throughout his being. And then darkness, glorious darkness that took away all of his senses. Grateful for the respite, Dean succumbed to it without a fight.


	4. The Fourth Horseman

**Disclaimer: No comment. *death glare***

**CHAPTER FOUR: The Fourth Horseman**

Dean Winchester woke up calmly enough. He'd sort of gotten used to taking his sweet time with the Leesons. They were graceful hosts, and he will be forever grateful for them taking him in and nursing him back to health, but Dean just couldn't stay for the same reason he couldn't stay in Hell with Ariana.

_Ariana._ The name brought a lump to his throat that Dean had become quite familiar with. He swallowed it painfully, and shoved the thoughts of the older girl to the deepest darkest recesses of his mind. He'll deal with his emotions later on.

The Winchester got up from the bed and stretched instinctively. He yawned deeply, taking in that floral perfume Mikhail liked to use...or not. Dean took another experimental whiff, scrunching up his face in concentration. He still wouldn't open his heavy eyelids as he inhaled the air around him. Which was sterile-smelling. The unmistakable scent of disinfectant, old people and death hung thickly around him.

Finally, Dean got the courage to peek with one eye open. Confirming his worst suspicions, Dean realized in astonished horror that he was where he thought he was: the worst place in the world. _Or at least second worst_ , he amended, having experienced Hell firsthand. He was in a hospital room.

The boy now opened both his eyes, glancing down at himself. His t-shirt slash memento from home was gone, replaced by a pristine white round-neck shirt. Pinstriped pajamas took the place of his blue jeans, and he was barefoot. Swinging his legs over the edge of the bed, Dean snatched the dextrose off his left arm and padded towards the closed door. He opened it easily.

Walking down the hallways, Dean didn't mind that they were empty. He figured it was in the middle of the night maybe, though he didn't really check the windows when he woke up. The curtains were drawn. He didn't really bother to check if it was day or night because it seemed inconsequential at that time so- _Stop_ , he told himself. _You're thinking about the wrong things._

Before he had a full blown panic attack, Dean tried recalling what got him here in the first place. He remembered leaving the Leesons' residence in the dead of the night and wandering from place to place for what felt like months. He remembered seeing the date in the television, January 24th, and then getting hit by a truck. On impulse, Dean started checking himself for injury. There seemed to be none at all. _Maybe I managed to dodge that truck after all_ , he theoretized. _Oh man, I screwed up big time._ _Good news is, maybe the authorites got ahold of dad._

Dean rounded another corner subconsciously and was relieved to find actual people in the nurses' station. He hadn't even realized he was holding his breath for so long, having felt no pain in his chest whatsoever. He was marching right over to the desk when he heard the pretty lady in a white lab gown speaking about a traffic accident. He quickly changed tactics and hid in a nearby corner instead to listen in.

"The little boy got hit by a truck, Annie! I don't know what else to do. We'll perform the surgery tomorrow with or without parent permission, but I'm afraid the chances of him surviving this is very slim." The doctor's voice quivered on the last word. She took an unsteady breath before speaking again. "I feel so useless and pathetic! I'm a doctor and I can't save a little boy's life!"

"Don't blame yourself, doc. You're sure you did everything you could possibly do?" The doctor nodded. "Then you've done enough. We're just mortals. We're not God. We can't possibly save everyone." Pretty Lady nodded tightly again and, with a pat on her hand the nurse left her.

Dean's heart was thudding so hard in his chest already. _They couldn't possibly be talking about me, could they? I feel perfectly fine! No, that's not me. Maybe another kid got hit by a truck too somewhere. Must be coincidence._

Creeping out of his corner, Dean called out to the doctor, "Hey, Doc!"

She ignored him. Dean was pretty sure she should've heard it since the hallways were dead silent. Thinking that maybe she was just very preoccupied with her thoughts, he approached her silently. If Dean was expecting some sort of recognition from her, he was disappointed. The lady didn't even look up from her sullen position behind the desk.

"Uhm, Doc?" Dean began hesitantly. No response. "Hey!" he shouted, slapping the desk hard with his hand.

The doctor looked up all of a sudden, showing Dean two dots of startling electric blue. The boy stumbled backwards in shock, but the doc stared right over his shoulder. Looking behind him, he was a little startled to see a bunch of medical people running towards a room. The room he just left.

Following them in a painstakingly slow manner, somehow, it didn't shock the little boy as much as he thought it should to see a perfect replica of himself lying deadly still on a hospital bed. All sorts of machinery were connected to his small body, working doubly hard to keep him breathing, but still losing the war futilely.

For one scary second, Dean felt like he was _fading._

"Are you ready to go, Dean?"

Flabbergasted to hear someone address him, Dean fell hard on his ass in surprise. Besides where he used to stand was an unbearably thin man in black formal clothes typically worn by office workers. Or by people going to a funeral.

"Who the Hell are you?" he demanded. "How do you know me?"

"Winchesters," the man muttered. "Always asking the wrong questions." Then much audibly, he answered the boy. "Wouldn't it be more interesting to know how I can see you when others cannot?" At Dean's bewildered gaze, he continued without encouragement. "I am Death, the Fourth Horseman. As a hunter's son, surely you know who I am."

Dean felt like his brain has short-circuited and sending weird dreams in his head. "This isn't real," he told himself finally. "None of this is real. It's all in my head!"

"How do I make you believe that _this_ is real? Really, if you Winchesters weren't such an interesting case, I wouldn't have bothered reaping you myself."

"I'm...dead?"

"Yes!" Death answered exasperatingly.

"But...I can't be...Sammy...I still need to find my baby brother. I-I can't die yet. You have to make an exception." Dean glanced back to his body and the living humans surrounding his bed. Somehow, they've restarted his heart again. He stopped flickering.

"Come with me."

Following Death is crazy in Dean's honest opinion. But what choice did he have? It's that or watching your body slowly give up on you, and he's not enough of a masochist yet to inflict that kind of torture on his young soul.

He walked in Death's wake, right to the other wing of the hospital. They came upon a door where a familiar name graced the nameplate. "S-Sammy's here!?" he choked out.

Upon Death's example, he crossed the threshold without much effort. Dean barely heard Death's voice the minute he saw his brother.

"I'll come back for your answer later, Dean Winchester. Remember that you can either come with me and I will take you to your rightful place, or you can stay here and become what you used to hunt."

~SPN~SPN~SPN~SPN~SPN~SPN~SPN~SPN~SPN~SPN~SPN~SPN~SPN~SPN~SPN~

It seemed like forever for Dean, but it really was just a few minutes since he came into Sammy's room. His brother was hooked up to a ventilator that helped with his breathing. For the millionth time, Dean felt utterly and completely useless. Sammy wouldn't be in this condition if he'd been there to take care of him. His father was often out on hunts, leaving just the two of them together, and if he wasn't there, who looked out for Sammy?

Standing beside his brother's bed, Dean reached out to ruffle Sammy's long hair. Only when his hand passed right through did he remember he wasn't a corporeal human being. With a huff of frustration, he resigned himself into watching the steady rise and fall of his brother's chest instead, hoping to calm himself down. It worked like a charm.

"I miss you, Sammy'" he sobbed. "I should've been there to protect you. Dad probably didn't know how to calm you down when you cried before going to bed. You've aways been such a bawler. _I_ know. I should've been there. Sorry, li'l bro."

Just then, the door to the room opened. Dean's protective instincts took over and he felt a lot stronger with anger fueling his soul, anger directed both at himself and the unfairness of it all.

John Winchester paused at the threshold, feeling the sudden drop in temperature inside his youngest's room. He's always hated hospitals, mostly because it made it harder to protect his boys. Salt lines would be met with scrutiny and devil's traps would probably get him confined in the psyciatric ward for religious psychosis. But he had to get Sam confined after he had a hard time breathing crying his eyes out, wanting his older brother. Nothing short of baby sedatives could calm him down, and it broke John's heart all over again to see him turn blue from the exertion.

A hand propped over the gun tucked in his waistband, John's trained eyes surveyed the room quickly. Just as quickly as it had come, the temperature became normal again. _Must've been paranoia,_ he told himself later on.

Dean relaxed exponentially when he saw his daddy. All the resentment building in his chest ever since that first encounter with George dissipated with just one look at his dad's form. He had sunken shadows in his eyes, no doubt a product of the sleepless nights his nightmares caused. Again, Dean felt the sharp stab of uselessness, hot and fast. If he'd been there, someone would wake his dad up from his nightly torture and usher him back to sleep to prevent him from drinking it all away. Alcohol was bad, he knew, and it wouldn't do for his dad to get sick, especially now.

Before Dean completely forgot, he tried moving a flask that stood on a bedside table. He knew it would be filled to the brim with holy water. As his dad sat down next to his brother's bed, Dean harnessed all of the emotions he's been burying deep inside and focused it all on that one item. He was John Winchester's son after all, and Winchesters don't take chances. Succeeding in his task, Dean knocked over the entire thing for its contents to spill on his dad's lap.

"Shit!" John exclaimed.

He righted the flask again, glancing around with more apprehension. Dean tried to do what he just did to materialize in front of his dad so he can at least talk to him, but he's used up all his energy protecting Sammy. He regretted nothing.

Tears sprung to John's eyes, his throat clenching tightly. "Dean?" he choked out. It was a long shot, but at this point, he was too desperate to care.

Dean gasped as his dad called his name. But what shocked him to his core was the moisture accumulating in his dad's eyes. "Dad, I'm here!" he screamed, waving his hands frantically in front of the man. He felt stinging in his own eyes-if that was real or just a lingering human sensation Dean will never know. "Dad, I'll always be here. I'll take care of Sammy, I promise," he said, although he knew his daddy couldn't hear him.

The man stood from his seat a minute later when a flurry of commotion started outside, pretending that he was fine when he was anything but. John asked a passing nurse what was happening.

"Just an emergency. The boy who got hit by a truck needs to be operated on again. We would've done it as soon as he was brought in, but his parents are MIA," she responded briskly.

Sounds of rustling blankets caught John's attention before he could process what the nurse just said. He said a mumbled thanks and returned beside his son's bed.

The sensation of fading came over Dean again. Somehow, Dean knew he didn't have any more time. "I love you daddy," he said in a heart-broken voice. Giving his brother a last once-over, he continued, feeling silly for talking when he was certain nobody can hear him. "Take care of yourself, Sammy. I love you."

Running outside, Dean was just in time to see his body being rolled away to the emergency room. He passed right through the door and saw the doctors doing God-knows-what to him.

The man from before claiming to be Death materialized beside him. "It's time, Dean."


	5. Revenge

 

**Disclaimer: *shakes head slowly* You and I both know the truth, so please. Stop making me do this!**

**CHAPTER FIVE: Revenge**

The hunter community thought they had figured out John Winchester pretty well. In the past six months or so, he has put down an awful lot of monsters than what most of them did when they were starting out in the profession. The guy was driven and singular; anything and everything evil has to be obliterated from the face of the Earth. They knew of his infamous temper and the absence of his sense of humor and that when those were mixed with a bottle of Jack, it never ended well for any cocky hunter to approach him and end up saying all the wrong things. But the familiarity ended there.

Nobody knew of the alcohol abuse, of the constant living in fear something will get his boys, or of the fresh bout of nightmares after every hunt, except for Dean maybe. Somehow, his little boy never failed to lull him back to sleep after each one woke him up with a terrified half-scream and drenched in cold sweat. Somehow, he always wakes up to freshly laundered clothes and a cup of caffeine after a nasty hunt or a nasty hang-over. Somehow, Sammy almost never got sick, the motel room promptly got paid, and breakfast was always remembered on time with John barely lifting a finger. He only realized just how much his son has been keeping their family together when he went missing. He was just no good with domestic stuff, being in the army for a good part of his life. Mary used to do that for him when he went home from service, and now that she was gone, John found it all the more difficult adjusting to civilian life.

For what was mistaken to be a revenge-driven crusade to find his wife's killer, there hidden within was the need to keep his boys, his only family left, safe. The only way he found to accomplish that efficiently was to keep on the move and kill monsters. The less evil creatures out there, the less harm can come their way. John couldn't find it in him to let go of his hatred for the monster who ruined his life and took the mother to his sons, but revenge has never been a top priority compared to his boys' welfare.

_Revenge._ John twisted the word over in his head. That's what he wanted right now. Revenge on Marv and Nick, the heartless bastards who took his eldest from him, is exactly what John craved. He had worked tirelessly to track them down after he found Marv's wallet back in the apartment they were renting that fateful night, but they were always one step ahead of him. Apparently, they were well-informed to hide their sorry ass in the deepest parts of Hell when they decided to screw with John Winchester.

However, no one can hide forever. Finally, John caught a break. Bobby Singer, another hunter from South Dakota, had heard from another hunter who heard from another hunter about their whereabouts. None were pleased to hear what they did and were more than happy to rat them out. As a result, John itched to go for the kill-he already had a very interesting mental image of the world of pain they will be in once he got his hands on them-but Sammy needed him right now. John knew Dean will never forgive him if anything happened to his little brother in his haste to save him. So John waited for Sammy to be discharged from the hospital. That was today.

That little episode in Sammy's room spooked him. Honestly, scared the crap out of him would come closer. John Winchester, feared hunter of the year, was frightened by a little coldness and coincidence. _But no, it was more than that,_ his hunter instincts insisted. If it was a typical hospital ghost, the chill in the air should've lasted more than a few seconds. If it was a typical hospital ghost, it could've knocked the cup of steaming coffee instead of the flask of holy water. John could swear he felt his eldest's presence if only he wasn't so emotionally compromised.

Finally signing the last of whatever documents were needed for Sammy with a shake to his head to clear out his thoughts, John paid the hospital with honest to goodness cash. Hunkering down somewhere semi-permanent was proving to be a tough job. He had to earn honest money, and it just wasn't his thing anymore. Hustling pool and running credit card frauds has become a normal thing for him that it proved difficult to re-adjust yet again. But John didn't mind any of it. He'll willingly trade hunting for his son's return anytime.

Strolling back to Sam's room, John was left to his thoughts again. He'll have to leave Sam with Bobby again for the last hunt of his career. He didn't want to be separated from his youngest son, the most vulnerable member of his family, but he had to if he was to have any chance at retrieving Dean. Moreover, he didn't want Sammy in the line of fire. Besides, he knew Singer was very fond of his kids since he didn't have any and would take care of Sam like he was his own. With that decided, John began making his plans for the trip.

It will be a seventeen-hour drive to Sioux Falls at least and another twenty-four hours to get to Carson City in Nevada, maybe more with the Impala's mileage. That didn't sit well with John, taking more or less two days in getting back his son assuming hhemade it through with totally no sleep, but there was nothing he could do about it. There was still some money left from the college fund for the boys, but it still wasn't enough for four plane tickets to and from his destinations: one to Sioux Falls, one to Carson and two back to Bobby's place.

Deep thoughts hindered John from realizing he was right in front of Sam's door. He opened the door slowly, peeking first inside to see if the little boy was awake. Finding that he was, John entered the room cautiously.

Sammy, even at one year old, was a pretty tough and smart kid. At seven months old, he was able to sit unsupported for long periods of time. A month later, he began walking unsteadily on his feet. Unsurprisingly, if not a little disappointingly for John, Sam's first word was 'Dee' on his first birthday. A few weeks after that, Sam said his first complete sentence which was 'I wuv yoo Dee'.

Neither Dean nor he knew where Sam picked that up. It really shouldn't hurt John because it was his fault, but it still stung whenever Sam struggled against him and looked for his brother. It was nobody's fault but his that he felt foreign to his own child.

Pushing all the morbid thoughts from his mind, John instead focused his attention on his one-year-old who was sitting on the bed looking at him suspiciously as if to say 'Where's my brother and what did you do to him?' "Hey, kiddo," he greeted with a tired smile.

Fortunately for him, Sam didn't cry this time. He just got all misty-eyed and sniffled a bit. It would've been cute under different circumstances, but it totally broke John's heart. He stepped closer and offered his arms to Sammy, which the toddler surprisingly accepted. Carrying him on his chest, John whispered, "I know, Sammy. I miss him too. But I'm gonna find him. I promise you that."

~SPN~SPN~SPN~SPN~SPN~SPN~SPN~SPN~SPN~SPN~SPN~SPN~SPN~SPN~SPN~

John slammed the Impala door shut. He opened the back seat and started unbuckling Sam from all the harness. Without Dean to hold his baby brother, John has had to buy a baby seat months ago, cutting their resources even further. Finally releasing the baby from that death trap, he slung Sam's duffle over one shoulder and carried him on the other.

He was just walking the short driveway when his hunter associate came out to meet him. Sort of. "Hey, Sammy! Look what Uncle Bobby got for you," Bobby announced with a grin, holding a brown package in one hand. It had an odd shape, and John had the half mind to test the hunter. He was leaving his only treasure in his care for a few days at least, and John would be damned if he gets Sammy in danger just because he was careless.

"Stop right there, Singer," he intoned, his eyes a steely gray in the drab atmosphere. "Keep your hands where I can see them."

With only an eyebrow raised in question, Bobby did as he was told. He knew better than to cross a protective parent. He took a flask of whiskey he always kept in hand from the inside pocket of his jacket-he wasn't called the town drunk for nothing-which was laced with holy water, unscrewed the cap and drank a big gulp. A lot of hunters had already adopted this method from him.

Next, he took a hidden silver dagger from his ankle, still not breaking eye contact with the other hunter. He made a show in making a small nick on his arm, making sure John saw it properly. Bobby saw John relax a little when he was done, but the younger hunter still didn't drop his guard.

_Typical,_ Bobby sighed. "Come on in, Winchester," he said instead, leaving the front door wide open in his wake. He went straight to the kitchen, placing all that he held on a small table. He took a cheap bottle of whiskey from one of the many cupboards and took a swig straight from the bottle. He turned around just in time to see John setting down the duffle bag in the study.

"What're yer plans, John?" he inquired.

"Not with Sammy around," was the response he got.

Huffing in recognition, he drank more rotgut and let the warmth snake in his veins as John set Sam on the floor beside the duffel bag. Bobby approached the little boy who was already propping himself to stand up, retrieving the brown-covered package from the table.

"Hiya, Sammy," he grinned at the little boy. "I got a surprise for you." Bobby shook the package, letting the bells inside tinkle. That immediately got Sam's attention. The hunter tore at the wrapper and handed the blue and red rubber baby rattle/teether to Sam. The one-year-old's firm grasp didn't surprise Bobby. He stopped being surprised at Sam's development after he heard him speak a full sentence at age one.

Shaking the toy experimentally, Sam let out a delighted little giggle when it rattled again. The two hunters smiled at the cute scene. The boy placed the toy in his mouth like all babies did, slobbering all over it, making happy cooing sounds only toddlers his age would understand. For a moment, John forgot his troubles and let himself enjoy his son's enjoyment. Bobby, understanding the situation, retreated outside with his drink.

~SPN~SPN~SPN~SPN~SPN~SPN~SPN~SPN~SPN~SPN~SPN~SPN~SPN~SPN~SPN~

All too soon, John had to deal with things. The longer he stayed at Sioux Falls, the more endangered his _other_ son would be. While Sam took his afternoon nap an hour later, the Winchester patriarch discussed his plans with Bobby.

"So basically, you're going after them two sons of bitches half-assed and alone? I don't think that's such a good idea, John." Bobby voiced his concerns after he heard what John had in mind. He didn't like how it sounded like a kamekaze attack.

"What do you want me to do?" John cried exasperatedly. "It's not like I have a line of people signing up to help me in this. I know you would, but you're the only one I trust enough to keep Sammy safe. I have no choice!"

"You damn well know you have a choice, ya idjit!" Bobby answered, his tone rising dangerously. "How the Hell do you think you're going to get out of this alive!? Marv and Nick are dumbasses, but they're still hunters, which makes them dangerous. This isn't just some hunt, John, and I know you know it. Dean's safety is on the line. How do you expect yourself to help him if you're bleeding dry on the ground?" At John's deflated look, Bobby added, "So lemme make a few calls to see who's in the area, find yourself some back-up at least."

"I don't have the time to sit around on my ass, Singer!"

"I _know_ ," Bobby said, clapping a hand on John's shoulder to let him know he understood the his concerns perfectly. "So you're gonna go down to the basement, into the panic room, and get some cash from the safe enough for three plane tickets: one for you going there and two for you and Dean to get back here."

Bewildered at the generosity, John tried to refuse, but Bobby was having none of it. "As you've said, time is a luxury we don't have," he countered nonchalantly.

John felt his throat close up in emotion. Feeling a chick flick moment coming on, he said instead, "I owe you one, Bobby."

"Damn right you do."

~SPN~SPN~SPN~SPN~SPN~SPN~SPN~SPN~SPN~SPN~SPN~SPN~SPN~SPN~SPN~

John said didn't say goodbye to Sammy. He left while he was still asleep. As talked about, John was meeting with another hunter to handle the Marv-Nick situation. His name was all Bobby would tell John, giving him a cheeky grin that promised hours of frustration and bad tempers and a whole lot of trouble.

Getting off the plane with only a handful of the weapons he managed to get through security, John felt giddy as a teenager on prom night-not that he knew how that would've felt, having had no chance for such things-checking and rechecking the time on his watch. Someone named Rufus Turner was supposed to pick him up from the airport right about now and it took all of John's patience to sit and wait patiently for the man to show up. Which was, admittedly, not much. Ten minutes into waiting, John found himself mentally punching an imaginary man on the nose to let him know what he thought of punctuality.

Just then, a dark-skinned old man about Bobby's age approached him. "You John Winchester?" he inquired by manner of greeting.

"Who's asking?" John returned, squinting his weary eyes suspiciously.

"Rufus Turner," the man replied, holding out a hand.

John took it in his and shook it firmly. "Glad to make your acquaintance."

"Bobby's already informed me of the situation. I was the one who found them here in the first place. Slimy sons of bitches owe me a caseful of Johnny Walker."

John found himself chuckling at Rufus despite himself. He had a feeling things are gonna turn out great.

That feeling flew right out the window the minute they got on the road. It wasn't so much as Rufus's fault as it was the unbelievable traffic and the uncharacteristic blistering heat, but John's patience was running thin. Winchesters were not built for waiting. Fortunately, Rufus didn't find the need to fill the silence with mindless small talk. John was grateful for that.

Rufus knew where he was going, which helped an awful lot in John's opinion. If he had taken the one day's worth of drive instead of the three-hour flight, John had a pretty good idea how hard that would drive him up the wall, pun intended. He found himself needing to remind himself of Bobby's words. His boys need him alive. Dean and Sam are depending on him to get them all through this.

Finally, Rufus pulled over by the side of the road. "We start walking from here," he explained, getting out of the car and beginning to gather his gear from the backseat.

"Why?" John immediately asked. Force of habit.

"Because," Rufus began, heaving at a heavy-looking bag. "We don't want to announce our arrival with a dramatic entrance. This ain't the Oscars."

With his own weapons double-checked, John followed Rufus's footsteps. He was forced to admit that Bobby was right, he did need back-up, if only to hold him back a little. His first instinct was to ride in there guns blazing, but with Rufus alongside him, he quickly realized a million flaws in that plan. Hands gripping the gun tight, John could only hope he arrives in time to rescue his son.

 


	6. Playing God

**Disclaimer: I'm running out of witty ways of saying no, but my sense of humor is nonexistent and as much as I try to get by, I just can't do it anymore so I'm leaving you guys to figure out how it is that no, Supernatural does not belong to Eric Kripke anymore. It belongs to me.**

**CHAPTER SIX: Playing God**

Rufus treaded carefully just a few feet ahead of John. He knew the guy only from gossips here and there, but if the way he looked was any indication, the younger hunter was more than ready to snap. He'd seen it happen to a number of other hunters more than his fingers, and if the guy didn't get himself killed, he'd put his kid in the grave himself.

The older man didn't have any kids himself, but he could've easily, if could just quit hunting once and for all. Frowning as he denied the memories that tried to resurface, Rufus instead focused on the task at hand which was a lot more important than wallowing in his regrets.

As much as he said otherwise, Rufus actually had a soft spot for children and despised the fact that anybody completely human can do such unspeakable heinous evil as to take a child from his family. It steeled his resolve that if and when the need arises, he will be able to pull the trigger on something that wasn't a monster by hunter standards.

Upon reaching their destination a good half hour later, John and Rufus worked together to advance with stealth. Dumbass or no dumbass, Marv and Nick were still hunters. Underestimating those two will more than probably be the death of them.

While John wanted to bust the doors down and hold the two monsters at gunpoint to force them to cooperate, Rufus had other ideas. The element of surprise was on their side and he was quick to take advantage. Picking the century-old lock in the run-down shack, Rufus had them inside in no time.

Despite its dilapidated structure from the outside, surprisingly enough, there was electricity inside. It was warm and the two hunters were already sweating, but it was more comfortable than the blistering heat outside. _And what is it with the warm weather in the middle of January anyway?_ he thought irritably, turning behind him to see John in as much discomfort as he. Gesturing for him to check out the kitchen area up ahead while Rufus cleared out the rooms, casually wiping sweat off his eyebrows as he spoke, the two proceeded with their individual assignment in mind.

John unholstered his gun, training it in front of him. Taking the safety off, he almost shot the two bodies lying passed out on the kitchen table. Empty bottles were strewn haphazardly everywhere and a packet of something he suspected as drugs was opened near the inert men. John kept his gun pointed in their direction until Rufus finally made his way towards the horrible scene.

It took no time at all to tie Nick and Marv up. They were too out of it with booze and drugs to wake up as John and Rufus bound them on their own chairs. If they had any idea what was happening, they were too smart to cross John Winchester a second time.

While Dean's kidnappers regained consciousness, John took that time to search the rest of the house. Any fool could see that no children were being kept in the place, but John adamantly insisted he check anyway. He couldn't stop himself from punching a wall in frustration, though, when just a few minutes later, his hopes were ruthlessly crushed. Dean wasn't anywhere near.

By that time, Nick and Marv were fully coherent and John was more than willing to start his own version of interrogation. He was 100% positive that it was these men who took his son, and that they knew where he is now. Rufus was the only reason he hadn't gutted the two in cold blood to begin with. Grudgingly, he was grateful he came along to keep him human.

However, that didn't mean he didn't get in a few choiced swipes at the two. Blood was trickling down the side of Nick's mouth as a few teeth got dislocated in a blow from John and Marv wasn't faring any better. He had a lump the size of a marble on top of his head and his eyes were swollen shot. Even Rufus managed to express his disgust with a punch to both men's solar plexus.

It was only when John remembered his only purpose for coming did he stop. Gasping from the exertion, he ordered gruffly, "Tell me where my son is and maybe I'll let you crawl out of here with most of your limbs intact."

Marv spat some blood onto the floor and sneered maniacally, "As if that would ever happen."

"Marv, maybe we should just-

"Shut up, you little coward! There's no way we're coming out of this alive if it's Johnny here involved. I told you that from the start."

 _Damn right, you won't,_ John thought ferociously. "If Dean is hurt in any way at all you will regret you've ever been born, but if you cooperate maybe I'll let you go," he lied through his teeth, aware that he could not for the life of him do such thing. These monsters took his Dean and hurt Sammy even more. Mercy was not in his vocabulary right now.

"Or maybe you need a little incentive," Rufus added, waving his pistol in the air like some prize he just won, making sure Marv and Nick saw them well.

John was glad for the support. He glared at the two impressively, mentally counting one through ten. _One,_ he began.

 _Two, three, four._ Nick trembled in his seat like the coward that he is. He didn't want to get involved in this any longer. All his life, ever since they were kids, he's been backing Marv up because he was the strongest bully in the playground. Nobody bothered with scrawny little him because he was always with Marv. Then they grew up and Nick pursued hunting like his invalid dad used to, Marv following in his wake silently and feeling like he owed his life to him. He quickly became a third wheel soon after that when Marv's brother, Roger, joined the fray.

And now this.

 _Five, six._ Nervously staring at Marv's impassive face as the older hunter-Rufus, wasn't it?-fingered at his gun, caressing the cold metal almost lovingly, all Nick could think of was that he didn't want to be on its receiving end.

 _Seven, eight._ Cold sweat began to dribble down Nick's face. He needed to do something. Hell be damned, he will not go down like this. He'll get out of Marv's shadow and build a life for himself. He finally has his chance and he intended to grab it. All he needed to do was get out of this alive and then he's leaving Marv for good.

_Nine._

_Ten,_ John counted mentally. Shaking his head in faux regret, he gave an exaggerated nod to Rufus. Fortunately, their thoughts were on the exact same wavelength and understood what he meant. Silent communication passed between them. Rufus raised his gun to Marv's head and pulled the trigger.

Nick's heart skipped more than just a beat. It felt like it stopped beating altogether. Literally. "I'll talk!" he screamed just as the gun went off.

Nothing happened. No brain matter exploded. No more blood spilled. Nick let out the breathe he unconsciously held, his vision swimming from the lack of oxygen and utter relief.

"Oh. I think I forgot to reload," Rufus announced, grinning broadly at the panicked expression on the other men's faces. He resisted the sudden foolish urge to high five John, holding tight onto his dignity.

"I think you owe me an explanation, Nick."

"SHUT THE HELL UP! JOHN DESERVES TO LOSE HIS SON LIKE I LOST ROGER!" Marv yelled hysterically at his hunting buddy, struggling against his bonds with all his might. Anybody who saw him will think he's gone insane, which he probably has. "DON'T YOU DARE OPEN THAT TRAP OF YOURS NICK OR I'LL-"

The rest of his words were muffled by duct tape to the mouth. "Go on," John coaxed as if it was the most natural thing to do, completely ignoring the struggling hunter to his left. Even half relaxed, he looked deadly.

Nick had the proper instincts to gulp audibly. "W-we took him to an acquaintance of Marv's out in Georgia. He goes by the name George but his real name is Raphael. He-" Nick stuttered and hesitated, but upon seeing the threatening look that crossed John's face, he continued. "He uhm, he's notorious for leading a child pornography circle."

"Where did you say you took my son?" John asked, his voice dangerously low.

Wisely, Nick didn't answer. The next thing he knew, Marv's chair was toppled over, his already split lip slicing open when a splinter of wood decided to embed itself there. He grunted in pain, unable to curse verbally due to his gag.

John once again turned his attention on Nick and he cowered away in extreme fear. _Why did I even agree to be a part of this?_ he screamed at himself.

"Give me the complete address," John ordered, gritting his teeth in frustration. _I was already in Georgia, goddamnit!_

In a rush that was a bit hard to follow, Nick rattled on about the specific town and the directions he still remembered, hoping to be in John's good graces at the least. He only now realized just how much he wanted to leave this kind of life for good, and he was willing to do anything to achieve his goal, even if it meant turning his back on his only not-so-much of a friend.

Before they knew it, John stormed out of the cabin. And with only a mocking glance thrown at the bound men, Rufus followed him hot on his heels.


	7. Little Sammy

**Disclaimer: If Supernatural was really mine, do you think Dean would still be gloriously single until now?**

**CHAPTER SEVEN: Little Sammy**

Sammy always woke up happy. Even though he was hungry and his diapers were full, a bright smile always painted his face every morning. His Dean made sure of that.

At night, Dean would sing him a song to make Sammy sleep and keep the bad dreams of yellow and orange things away. All Sammy understood was 'Hey Jude', but he didn't mind. He liked Dean's voice.

In the morning, Dean always greeted Sammy with a raspberry to the tummy. It almost always would lead to a tickle fight that Sammy looked forward to. Dean would then change his diapers and feed him the yummy mush Dean called 'baby food'. After that would come the bubba bath that Sammy really enjoyed.

Later in the morning, Dean would let Sammy watch a little toons. And then it would be play time all day long.

So Sammy was always happy. Dean gave him what he needed even before he even thought of needing them. Sammy never had to cry for anything. Life was good with Dean.

Imagine little Sammy's confusion when one day, he woke up somewhere dark. His nose itched. Sammy waited for Dean's soothing hands to lightly tousle his hair and get him back to sleep. He waited for Dean's quiet humming. Sammy waited, but none of what he expected happened.

At first, he didn't want to cry. Sammy didn't like seeing Dean sad whenever he cried. It was one reason he almost never cried. But the longer Sammy spent in the dark place, the longer Sammy was alone, the longer Sammy didn't see Dean, he felt more scared. But this time, Sammy wasn't scared of the bright orange and yellow lights from his dreams. Sammy was scared because he didn't see Dean. The young boy cried, despite his best efforts to stop it.

It felt like a really long time for Sammy. He cried and cried, but nothing happened. Dean didn't come.

All of a sudden, strong hands grabbed Sammy. Sammy knew at once that it wasn't Dean, but he couldn't do anything to stop the hands as they pulled him from his spot.

When finally warm arms engulfed Sammy, he found out he has been under the bed all this time. That's why it was so dark.

As the man hugged Sammy, his eyes searched for Dean. Dean still wasn't anywhere. Tears began to leak in Sammy's eyes again. _Where is Dean?_

The man set Sammy back on the bed. Sammy looked at the man who was now running all over the room and messing things. He knew the man a little. Dean often called him 'sir'. Sammy didn't know why but he knew Dean was always right.

Sammy tried to say the word 'sir' but only 's' came out. Fortunately, it still got the sir's attention. The sir dropped his hands to his sides, looking at Sammy in wonder. He abandoned his attempts in trying to uproot his hair.

"Dee?" Sammy meant to ask where Dean is, but all he could say properly was a baby version of Dean's name.

Gratefully, the sir seemed to get what he meant. "Dean's not here, Sammy."

Sammy frowned. He didn't like it when anybody but Dean called him Sammy. But what bothered him the most was that Dean wasn't anywhere near him. If Dean wasn't here, then who would take care of baby Sammy? Who would sing him to sleep? Who would greet him good morning with a tickle fight? Who would love Sammy?

However, Sammy didn't get anymore chance to look and ask for Dean. The sir was rocking him back to sleep. Even through his efforts0 to stay awake and wait for Dean's coming back, soon, Sammy found himself drifting back to dreamland.

~SPN~SPN~SPN~SPN~SPN~SPN~SPN~SPN~SPN~SPN~SPN~SPN~SPN~SPN~SPN~

Sammy startled awake, his big brown eyes wide open. The orange and yellow things were back and without Dean, no one could help Sammy push them away from him. It scared Sammy a lot, not having Dean around to make him happy. He missed Dean so much it hurt his tiny chest.

Glancing around the room, Sammy found it familiar. Sammy then remembered the last time he was awake. The 'sir' had brought him to Unca Bobby's house and Unca Bobby gave him a toy that made a sound Sammy liked. It reminded him of Dean's laugh.

His eyes finally landed on the door where Sammy saw Unca Bobby standing. "Dee?" Sammy asked, saying the only thing he's been willing to say lately.

Bobby had a sad look on his face. That alone clued Sammy all he had to kno. "Sorry, kiddo. He's not here yet. Yer daddy's gone to get him."

 _Daddy?_ Sammy thought, confused. He didn't know who daddy was. Maybe it was the sir. Dean used to call him that too, although rarely, only when Dean cried. Sammy thinks he doesn't like daddy. _But more importantly, Dean's coming home._ Sammy offered Unca Bobby a small smile.

Unca Bobby approached him slowly. He picked Sammy up from where the boy has been sleeping on the bed. Sammy stroke Unca Bobby's chin a little as he was lifted up, liking the feel of his rough chin hair.

An hour later, Sammy's diaper was now changed and Unca Bobby was feeding him some mush. It wasn't like anything he was used to eating, but he sort of liked eating it anyway. Unca Bobby called it potato. Sammy decided he'd learn that word later. Dean liked it when he learned something new.

Patiently, Sammy waited for Dean. Sammy played with the toy Unca Bobby gave him. Sammy drank some apple juice from his favorite sippy cup while he watched the toons with Unca Bobby. Unca Bobby kept glancing at the clock on the wall, though, and Sammy found that confusing. Sammy didn't like not knowing why Unca Bobby was doing that.

Sammy reached out for Unca Bobby's chin hair as he turned his attention back to the TV. Unca Bobby looked at him with a soft smile on his face. "Yeah, Sammy?"

Sammy frowned. He really didn't like being called Sammy unless it was Dean, but there was nothing he could do about it. Still holding on to Unca Bobby's chin hair, Sammy pointed a chubby finger to the clock. Unca Bobby craned his neck to see where Sammy was pointing and a puzzled expression came on his face. "You wanna play with the clock?"

Shaking his head vehemently in frustration, Sammy pointed at the clock more insistently, making what Dean called a 'geeky look' whenever Sammy tried to ask about something.

Unfortunately, Unca Bobby wasn't Dean. Unca Bobby didn't understand Sammy. "Uh, it's 4:40 in the afternoon?" Unca Bobby guessed.

Sighing in all his cuteness, Sammy gave up trying to ask. No one understood him as Dean did. Unca Bobby returned to watching the toons, but Sammy wasn't interested in it anymore. Sammy just wanted Dean.

~SPN~SPN~SPN~SPN~SPN~SPN~SPN~SPN~SPN~SPN~SPN~SPN~SPN~SPN~SPN~

By afternoon, Sammy had fallen asleep for a nap. Bobby turned the TV off to let the boy sleep peacefully on his couch that was quite large enough for him, meaning to do a bit of light reading before he started on some lunch. A bloke in Iowa needed some Latin text translated about shapeshifting vampires (?) and so he turned to the older hunter for help.

Bobby got off the couch, leaning in to tuck Sammy under some baby blankets John brought along. That's when he noticed that poor little Sammy was shivering badly in his onesie. He was sucking lightly on his thumb, turned to one side and curled into a fetal position. Bobby's fingers grazed the boy's skin, only to found it uncomfortably hot. "Balls!" he exclaimed when he realized what was happening.

The hunter made a wild dash to his first aid kit that was stocked a lot better than most pharmacies. It wasn't like that now, though, because he totally forgot to stock up on children's Tylenol. Just his luck.

Thinking deeply, Bobby tried to concoct some plan of action. He very well couldn't leave Sam alone to go out and buy him some medicine, but he also wasn't in any condition to travel, so Bobby couldn't take the sick boy with him. Finally, he reached the only logical solution. He needed some help.

Using one of his many telephones in the kitchen, Bobby punched in the number of the Rhodes', one of his closest neighbors. During the last few months, he has become good friends with the old couple after he had helped them with a set of china that brought along a ghost with it. He could ask them if they would look after Sammy for a short period of time while he went to get the damn Tylenol.

"Hello, you've reached the Rhodes' residence," a young voice answered, something Bobby wasn't expecting.

"Uhm, hi," Bobby greeted awkwardly. "May I please talk to Helen?"

"Oh. Mom and dad are away on a vacation right now. You wanna leave a message?"

"Crap!" Bobby swore under his breath, unsure of what to do now.

"I'm sorry, who is this?"

"Bobby. Bobby Singer," he sighed.

"From Singer Salvage Yard? _That_ Singer?"

"Yup, the one and only," Bobby answered apprehensively. His reputation in his hometown wasn't lost on him and he was sure it wasn't lost on the Rhodes' daughter as well. Last he heard she's gone to some fancy police academy.

"Huh. What do you need from my parents?" she asked curiously. _What does my parents have to do with the notorious town drunk?_

"Nothin'," Bobby answered curtly. Her tone was rubbing on him the wrong way and he just wanted to hang up on her. But he couldn't. He needed her help. "I just, uh, needed help on something," he said evasively for no particular reason.

"With what? More alcohol?" she retorted derisively.

"No, actually. I need some children's Tylenol." _Patience, singer. Patience is a virtue._

"Oh." The woman was at lost for an appropriate response. "Okay. I'll be right over."

"What? No," Bobby protested half-heartedly as she hung up on him, glad he didn't have to ask anymore. Needing help never went well for him. Now all he needed was to wait. Right, 'cause that's a lot easier.

~SPN~SPN~SPN~SPN~SPN~SPN~SPN~SPN~SPN~SPN~SPN~SPN~SPN~SPN~SPN~

Bobby tried to maintain a semblance of order in the house. He really did. But whenever he told himself he was going to clean and fix things, he would just run into another case or a hunter would need to have something figured out or something translated or something else entirely. His job as a coordinator of sorts in the hunter community, not that he wanted it, was very demanding. As a result, guns and knives and herbs of all kinds were strewn about anywhere, among the sea of books that has been overflowing on the shelves and finding themselves left on countertops, tables and even cupboards sometimes. Now Bobby has to pay the price.

He's been thinking of babyproofing ever since he met the Winchesters, but he never really got to it. _Maybe I should've then, now I have to do all of it in a matter of minutes,_ he thought grumpily, anticipating the Rhodes' eldest daughter-as he had assumed-to be plenty freaked out when she visits the town drunk and accidentally sits on a machete. Hell, she'll probably call the stiffs on him.

The hunter was in the middle of stashing his supply of rocksalt shells and and a bunch of rosemary when he heard a loud thumping on his front door. _Time for judgment._

Bobby stuffed all of the things he had in his hands in the remaining cupboard left empty and went to get the door.

Sure enough, a twenty-something lady stood on his front porch, a brown paper held securely in her hands. They stared awkwardly at each other before the woman decided to break the ice. "I never introduced myself. Jody Rhodes, by the way," she said, sticking an hand out.

Playing the civilized citizen role, Bobby took it in his and shook it firmly. "Thanks for the help," he muttered sincerely and added out of politeness, "And sorry for bothering you at this time. You want some coffee?"

If he expected her to decline the offer, he was sorely disappointed. "Sure," Jody chirped with too much curiosity. Bobby let her in anyway. If she was any type of mosnter, she'd be in a whole new world of hurt.

Leading her to the kitchen, Bobby kept an eye if she would react to the devil's trap or salt lines just under the worn-out carpet. When she didn't, he took out a silver cup just for these occasions and filled it with lukewarm coffee from the pot he made earlier. He handed it to her and was relieved when she didn't begin writhing in pain on the floor.

Jody took a small sip from what Singer gave her. It was some decent coffee, but she didn't pay much attention to it. The main purpose she went over at all was because she wanted to know why their neighbor needed Tylenol for a kid. Finding out his connection with her parents was just second to that. "So," she began, walking over to the doors of the kitchen that led to a study and eying a lump of blankets on the couch. "Is that your kid?"

 _Ah, so that's what this is all about._ "Nah, he's a friend's. Probably picked up some sorta bug from the hospital after he got discharged," he said with a tone of finality.

Again, Jody disappointed him. "Yeah? Where's his mom?"

"She died when Sammy here was just six months old in a house fire," Bobby fibbed, feeding her the civilian story. "John, his dad, is now looking for his missing other kid." The pointed look he gave Jody silenced her.

After another awkward silence, Jody said, "Need help around here?" At the incredulous look on Bobby's face, Jody laughed, "Don't worry, I don't have any ulterior motive. And it's for free. You just look like you won't last a day with a sick child."

When Bobby still looked like he would refuse, Jody added, "You know what to do with him to get him to drink the medicine?" She grinned at Bobby's lost look. "Come on, you need me."


	8. A New Beginning...

**Disclaimer: *grumbles* Buzz killer. Geez. Okay, okay, I don't own Supernatural! You happy?**

**CHAPTER EIGHT: A New Beginning...**

Dean was in his happy place. There were ballons all over their house and he was wearing his favorite pale blue shirt with the teddy bear in the middle and printing that said 'I wuv hugs'. He was currently sitting near the countertop where a very big steaming fresh-from-the-oven pie was perched. The young pie-crazed boy reached out to take a slice, but a hand swatted his away good-naturedly. He looked up and there she was.

"Mom?" he choked out, his throat closing with unshed tears.

"Later, Dean. Your friends will be here any moment now," she said gently, turning back to the stove where spaghetti sauce was cooking. She just missed the fact that her son was now openly crying for the first time since November 2, 1983.

His mom talked and talked about random things and Dean couldn't stop crying. He remembered this day. It was his fourth and last normal birthday, just before baby Sammy was born. Finally, when shock has worn off and he could move again, he got off the stool and hugged his mom from the back.

"Aww, Dean-o. What's wrong?" Mary asked, her hands freezing over the pot as she stirred its contents with a wooden ladle.

"I love you, mommy," Dean said, still sobbing onto her clothes.

"I love you too, sweetie," Mary smiled to herself. She seemed totally oblivious to how hard Dean was crying. "Now go over to the living room and help your daddy, okay? Mommy's busy cooking for your party and I can't keep a look out for the pie at the same time."

That's when Dean felt something wrong with the picture. His mom wasn't pregnant anymore. He didin't feel the bump on her tummy. "Mommy?" he inquired.

"Yes, hon?" his mom answered patiently.

"Where's Sammy?"

"Who?"

Dean stared at his mom, wiping the tears from his eyes. He wanted to ask her a lot of things, but she already had her back turned to him. This isn't his memory. This is something else. _Why doesn't mom know Sammy? Where's my brother? Where_ am _I?_

Walking aimlessly around and lost in thought, Dean found himself in front of a door. Bright red stickers of firetrucks and firemen adorned the mahogany wood. A doorknob hanger read 'Proceed at your own risk-Dean's room'.

Apprehensively, he opened it. He didn't have any idea what he's going to find behind the door and frankly, the endless possibilities scared him. Squaring his shoulders, Dean decided he'll never know unless he tried.

The door opened with a freaky creak.

Dean stumbled into the dark room, groping for the light switch somewhere. Again, the place didn't seem right. When the boy finally found one and switched it on, he shielded his eyes from the sudden brightness. A very familiar voice spoke.

"Dean? Why are you still up?"

At last his eyes adjusted and Dean could see again. He was in a nameless motel room, one of the many his family has rented during the past months. His dad was sprawled on the carpeted floor, a big gash on his forehead, his eyes glazed over. Without a doubt, he was concussed.

"Dad I-" Dean stopped. What would he tell his dad? That he was trapped in his mind with faulty memories? Then again, what harm would come if he _did_ tell the truth? This is a memory. Nothing can hurt him here. And besides, his dad can help him. "Dad, there's something-

Dean let his sentence hang mid-air. His dad had apparently passed out, his eyes rolling into his head and his breaths coming in short unhealthy gasps. Dean panicked. He knew it was only a memory but he couldn't just stand there and watch his dad bleed to death.

Quickly and efficiently, just like daddy taught him, Dean grabbed a piece of cloth on the the center table and pressed it firmly on John's forehead to staunch the blood flow; he didn't know how to make stitches just yet so it will have to do. He did know that patients with concussion couldn't stay asleep so he shook John awake.

"M-Mary, I'm really sorry... I couldn't... The fire..." John mumbled incoherently, going into shock.

"Daddy! It's okay!" Dean said more forcefully, shaking his dad with one hand. "Just breath, okay? Hang on, dad, I'll take care of you and Sammy. We'll be fine. I'll find you and we'll be okay. We'll stop hunting if we have to. But I'll find you, I promise."

Just then, as if the tension wasn't enough for Dean, the room began to shake violently, toppling bottles of all sorts from their shelves fr, the ground rumbling deeply. _Earthquake? I don't remember any earthquake._

The door burst open and a thin old man entered. "Done running, Dean-o?"

Dean bristled at the patronizing tone he used. "Don't call me Dean-o! Only mommy and daddy and Sammy can call me that. I don't even know you."

"Really?" the man asked mockingly.

All of a sudden the events of the past twenty-four hours came back to Dean. From the car accident to the hospital to the bilocation/crisis apparition he experienced (he's read an awful lot about ghosts). The last thing he remembered was seeing his own body giving up on him. Dean repressed another sob. He's done enough crying to last him a lifetime. "Am I dead?" he asked with surprising calm.

The man, Death, regarded him carefully before answering. "Well, not really. You've been running away from me ever since you slipped into coma, but yes, you're body is still being kept alive by those human machines."

"Then I gotta go back to my body!"

"Yes, yes, so I've heard," Death grumbled uncomfortably. Okay, so he lied about the 'come with me or become a ghost' part. Technically, it wasn't the boy's time. Not yet anyway. But after Death saw what was in store for the pure-hearted young Winchester whose soul shone so bright even the demons had a hard time possessing him, he just couldn't do _nothing_. Despite what other people thought, he wasn't heartless. He didn't like his job, but someone had to do it. Someone had to uphold the law.

"Please, mister. My brother needs me. Please," Dean begged, turning his pleading eys on the stranger who called himself Death. "Please, I need my brother."

Knowing the consequences of his actions didn't help Death decide. Stuffing a soul that has been separated from its body for this long had its repercussions. There was a time, eons ago, when he did his job stoically. He knew what he had to do. He didn't even spare those souls another thought. But this case was different. It was probably wrong, but it wasn't against the rules and the kid wanted it. Without another word, Death placed his right palm on Dean's forehead. Before Dean could react to the cold touch, he passed out.


	9. ...Or Not

**Disclaimer: ... Aww man, do I hafta?**

**CHAPTER NINE: ...Or Not**

"Dr. Snow?"

The young woman sitting by the hospital bed startled awake when a raspy old voice called her name and a hand touched her shoulders and shook gently. She hadn't even realized she had fallen asleep. Swiveling around to see behind her, she found an older nurse smiling softly at her. "Diane," she recognized, doing her best to smoothen the creases on her clothes. "I hadn't meant to fall asleep. Good thing you woke me up."

"You've been working hard. You're entitled," the nurse said kindly. "How is he?" she asked, gesturing to the little boy buried under the blankets.

Wearily, Dr. Snow slumped back in her seat. "No change," she confirmed, shaking her head sadly. "I'm afraid he won't ever wake up. And if he doesn't we'll never know who or where his parents are."

"Well, miracles do happen."

"Yeah, I guess," she answered lamely, unable to expresse her disagreement without sounding condescending and rude.

If Nurse Diane noticed it, she didn't show. "You should get proper rest." With another squeeze to her shoulders, the nurse left with her clipboard.

And Dr. Angelle Snow was left with her own thoughts. Which is almost as dangerous as leaving a nuclear warhead with a curious four-year-old boy.

Subconsciously, Angelle's mind wandered to her own boy. She remembered that fateful day as if it was only a few hours ago, the ache in her chest even stronger than then, if that was actually humanly possible. Repeating her daily mantra of the word rama-meaning eternal happiness-did nothing to help like it always did, her emotions stretched taut after that rigorous operation with the kid currently on the hospital bed in front of her.

Needing the human touch that seemed to calm her more than anything, the doctor held the boy's tiny hand in both of hers. He was warm and and cozy, exactly what home should feel like, and Angelle couldn't help but compare it to her cold and sterile apartment. Despite the fact that the boy, John Doe or simply John as the medical staff has taken to calling him, was deathly still, two spots of pink graced his angelic face. His mouth twitched upwards and for a minute, Angelle thought he would smile. It broke her heart even more when she blinked and he was still again.

Death was not a foreign concept to the doctor. She knew that if the heart stopped beating or if brain activity ceased, it would spell death for that person. She knew what happened when a loved one passed on. After all, she's lived it. First her parents when she was six years old and then her aunt when she was ten. Her grand parents came next when she was 21. Yep, death surrounded Angelle Snow like second skin. But none of that broke her more than May 2, 1983 did.

"Baby," she whispered hoarsely, momentarily mistaking John for her Patrick. Angelle brought the tiny hand to her chest, her grief overwhelming her once more. Nothing hurts more than when a parent outlives her child.

Angelle was crying her eyes out again when the strangest thing happened. She felt the temperature drop exponentially and she wiped the stinging cold tears from her face, bewildered. The doctor stood up from her seat and glanced at the room thermometer. Sure enough, it read ºF. Just then, the lights started flickering on and off, sending creepy signals to Angelle. She's never believed in ghosts, but now she almost really did.

But that wasn't the weirdest of them all. John was sitting up on the hospital bed, rubbing the sleep off his eyes like nothing odd was going on.

The boy's hair stuck up, but he didn't seem to mind. His hazel eyes took in the room curiously, finally landing on her frozen form. His head tilted to the left a bit, as if he was asking who she is with just his actions.

The goosebumps vanished from her arms and it became warm again. One peek at the thermometer confirmed that the temperature has climbed to its rightful value. Again, odd.

For a heartbeat, silence reigned in the room, Angelle not knowing what to say and the little boy just staring at her.

 _Professionalism, Elle,_ she reminded herself mentally. "You're in the hospital."

At the kid's confused look, Angelle remembered her training. "Hey, take it easy," she said, approaching him. Angelle gently pushed him back on the bed, careful to avoid his mending ribs.

John was pliant under her touch and Angelle sighed in relief. If he started asking for her parents now, she wouldn't know what to tell him. Instead, he sank back to the comfort of the bed, eyes closed and face scrunched up in pain. He bit his lower lip as if to hold back a scream. His pain tolerance amazed Angelle.

For a peaceful moment, Angelle observed John. But she knew she had to ask her questions now so she could relay it to the police and they in turn could start looking for his family. She tentatively touched John's hand.

The boy's eyes snapped open, recoiling from her. His hazel eyes were now wild with fear, ones she recognized all too well: the eyes of an abused kid. It had her wondering if it was a good thing to give him back to his parents, whoever they are. But she still had to try. She couldn't afford to jump to conclusions now.

"Don't worry," she said with a strong steady voice. "I'm not gonna hurt you. I just want to ask some questions."

John nodded adult-like, which struck Angelle as funny. He was barely seven years old as far as she could figure out. Clearing her throat and sitting upright back on her chair, she regarded the little boy seriosuly. "What's your name?"

His eyebrows met in the middle again. He mirrored her and cleared his throat, seemingly thinking hard about his answer. "Dean, I think."

The bizarre answer bemused Angelle. She decided to ignore it for now. At least she now had something specific to call him aside from John Doe. "How old are you?"

Dean put up five fingers at first, and then seven. He finally settled for six, still looking unsure of himself.

"What about your parents?"

"I..." his voice faltered and he looked utterly lost. "I don't know." He started breathing hard in panic. "Why can't I remember these things?"

"Relax, Dean, I'm sure you will. You just had a major operation and your brain's kinda addled from the medication. Maybe you just forgot for now. Just breathe, sweetie. Just breathe," she assured him, her mind racing ahead of her, making the necessary deductions to diagnose the situation. She didn't like the sudden turn of events.

Dean looked at her and could only think of one thing; she was lying. He wasn't going to miraculously remember things anytime soon.


	10. Safe Haven

**Disclaimer: *holds the same banner and shakes head***

**CHAPTER TEN: Safe Haven**

The disorientation and confusion of not knowing himself was almost too much for little Dean. After the pretty lady who introduced herself as his doctor explained the circumstances, Dean felt terribly exhausted and spent. Everything about him hurt. Even when he closed his eyes, rest would not come. There were so many questions that needed answers.

Whenever left alone, Dean couldn't hold back the flood of tears anymore. He just felt so unwanted and unloved just by being here. Alone. Hooked up to a couple of mean-looking machines that supposedly kept him alive. Without a family. Dean felt like there was something he had to do, and he grabbed at the thought frantically but it dissolved into wisps of confusion before it could even fully form. It was achingly frustrating.

Sobbing into his palms, Dean saw all the old scars he sported. He knew there would be a story behind each one, but he couldn't remember them even if his life depended on it. The feeling of urgency never left him even as different medical staff members and government authorities interviewed him in the following days. The one with the CPS people was the weirdest of all.

The minute the CPS lady entered the room, Dean already knew something was wrong with her. He didn't like the smell that came with her-like she ate rotten eggs for breakfast-and he definitely didn't like the patronizing tone she used with him. "Hi, honey," she smiled sweetly at him as she sat down on the only available chair beside his bed and shrugged off her coat. "I know you went over these questions with the other people already, but I need you to answer them again for me okay? I promise you a candy cane if you cooperate with me," she winked conspiratorially at him.

Dean very nearly gagged in her face as he hastily wiped the moisture off his face. Thankfully, she didn't seem to notice his tears. He barely managed to restrain himself from telling her off, mentally scolding himself. It didn't make sense for him to hate her this much when he just met her today. "Okay," he answered timidly, toying with the IV drip connected to his left hand nervously.

"So you don't remember _anything_?" she asked, looking very shocked. To Dean, it looked rehearsed. It immediately got his defenses up.

"Well, they come in bits and pieces. I'm sure I'll remember soon," he said, schooling his voice so it sounded brighter and more optimistic than he felt at the moment. "Doctor Angelle, said so."

The lady's lips twitched up, as if she was supressing a laugh. Dean bristled again, wishing he had salt. _Wait, what? Why do I want salt right now?_

Utterly perplexed with himself and his weird reactions, little Dean failed to notice the total eclipse happening in the woman's eyes as she grinned malevolently at him. _Oh yes, Azazel will be pleased._

When Dean looked up at the CPS lady again, all he saw was the smile plastered on her face. It would've been nice, only, it was the kind of smile that The Big Bad Wolf gave Little Red Riding Hood, sending chills down his spine. She looked ready to pounce him.

 _Oh great, now I know I read fairytales, thanks!_ he told himself, annoyed.

Fortunately, he was saved from his own imagination by the good doctor.

Angelle stood by the window of the ICU room-Dean was yet to be transferred-watching the exchange in secrecy. The little boy, Dean, was breathing a little too fast for her liking, and he edged away from the lady-Martha Carthage, as she had introduced herself earlier. The doctor couldn't hear what they were talking about, but if it was enough to break the 'I'm a tough adult' facade of the boy, then it was enough for her to throw the woman out.

She announced her entrance spectacularly, an apologetic expression on her face. "I'm sorry, Ms. Carthage, but I think that's enough for now. Dean needs a lot of rest to keep his strength up."

The woman looked annoyed but she obviously knew how to act as she schooled her face to look otherwise. "Oh it's fine," she said. "I'll be back for you, okay Dean-o?"

 _Why does that sound like a threat?_ Dean wanted to ask her, but instead he forced another brave smile, trying to look eager. "Okay."

Martha stood up, gathered her stuff and headed out with a slight nod to the doctor.

Once the woman was out of earshot, Angelle regarded the boy. He was too little in the too big hospital bed, surrounded with unnecessary linen that obviously annoyed him. She looked at him fondly. "You okay?" she asked cautiously. She knew from experience that treating him like 'a baby or a wimp' was not the way to go about Dean.

"Am fine," Dean muttered defiantly, unable to look the doctor in the eyes. His relief when she entered the room was not a vulnerability he could allow. He's a big boy now. He could manage. He'd do whatever the hell is bugging him at the back of his mind and survive this nightmare. He'd be fine.

After an uncomfortable silence, Dean peered at the doctor from under his thick eyelashes. "When can I check out of here?"

The question took Angelle off guard. "You can't," she answered instinctively.

"Why the hell not?" Dean shot back defensively, meeting the doctor's gaze head on. "I'm fine now!"

Angelle changed gears. "Of course you are," she said placatingly. "It's just that…" _How do I explain this to a kid without sounding callous_? She racked her brain for a miraculous answer.

"Just that what?"

"Where will you go, Dean?"

Dean snickered. It was such an easy question. "Home, obviously."

"Where is home?"

Dean lost his grin. He didn't answer. He couldn't, not even if his life depended on it, which he felt was the case here. His whole life hinged on him remembering everything. Anything. A name, a thing, or a place. Anything at all. But he just can't.

"Why can't I remember anything?" he whispered to himself hoarsely, his eyes getting alarmingly wet with each second that passed. "What's wrong with me?" Dean's hands found their way to his head and he grasped at his shorn dirty blonde hair as if that would bring him the memories he needed. He tugged at them frustratedly, harder with each pull, trying to see past the solid cloud that blocked him from remembering. "Why?!"

"Ssh, Dean, stop it," Angelle responded immediately even as her heart bled. She gathered him in a warm embrace despite his sobbing protest, restraining his hands that could do more damage in the process. "No one's expecting you to remember things right now. You should take your time and stop pushing yourself too hard. You'll remember soon enough. I promise." Angelle didn't like lying. Doctors aren't supposed to promise anything. But it was the only thing she could think of that would calm him down. "I promise you'll remember soon."

"What if I don't?" Dean sobbed brokenly, hating himself for being such a baby. "What if I never remember anything?"

Angelle didn't have an answer to that, so she just hugged the little boy and tried to make him feel her care as much as she could. It was the only thing she could do.


	11. Guardian Angelle

**Disclaimer: We all know the truth, so let's just keep it to ourselves, shall we?**

**CHAPTER ELEVEN: Guardian Angelle**

Because of Dean's unprecedented situation, Dr. Angelle Snow had to give over his case to the resident neurologist, a specialist on matters with the brain, and surrender all her responsibilities. She could not, however, stop herself from visiting him whenever she could and bringing him food to eat and things to do. She knew firsthand how nasty hospital food can get and how deadly bpredom goes and she didn't want Dean to go through all that. He didn't need any more stressors. Today, she brought with her some apple pie she made earlier this morning just for this occasion.

Dean has already been transferred to the regular rooms in the lower levels of the hospital so she passes him by on her way to her daily rounds all the time. The nurses attending to him have come to know her as well, so they never questioned it even though she goes to visit him a little earlier than the visiting hours.

Angelle made her way through the familiar pristine hallways with a spring to her step. She's never felt so alive like this ever since the accident and it was a welcomed feeling now. It was as if all the burden on her shoulders has been lifted and she could feel no more pressure. More and more each day, she found herself looking forward to the quiet and sometimes not-so-quiet moments with Dean. Today was wven more special because it was her birthday.

It's been a long time since she last celebrated anything. She often didn't remember her own birthday and she always worked overtime during the holidays. She's found no reason to celebrate anything at all after she lost her Patrick. That is, until she met Dean.

The kid was like a fresh breath of happiness into her life. He ws so young and amusing and matured at the same time. She could discuss with him things she never imagined to talk about with anyone, like what she thought of adult stuff and the like. And yet, during Dean's unguarded moments, he would sometimes let her motherhen him and show her his 'wimpy side', as he called it. The set-up was just heart-stoppingly perfect it made her wonder when the other boot would fall.

Until now though, Dean still hasn't remembered anything. Angelle has been doing her best to keep his mind off the issue, but she knew it was only a matter of time before he starts pressing for answers. The thought made her pause hesitantly outside her favorite patient's door which was slightly ajar.

"Elle?" Dean's cute just-woke-up voice called out to her, making Angelle's fears for him melt for the time being. "I know you're out there."

"How do you always know when it's me?" Angelle grinned as Dean's good mood infected her, pushing her way in with the brown package cradled securely to her chest.

"I just do." Dean shrugged noncommitally, eying Angelle's package a little suspiciously. "What's that?" he asked reluctantly, the look of hesitation that Angelle had come to know quite well was back on his face and sapping him of his buoyant mood.

That's probably one of the things about Dean that drew Angelle in like moth to a flame. He was such a carefree young kid but he oftentimes acted like someone five times his age. Even more than that, there were quite a few bizarre things that he did just recently, one of them being insisting on keeping a salt shaker by his bed. And don't even ask about that weird devilish-looking symbol he drew in the sketch pad Angelle bought for him.

What broke her heart the most was the fact that Dean reacted negatively towards gifts almost like he thought he didn't deserve them. Like he believed he didn't deserve to be happy.

Angelle pushd those dark thought to the deepest recesses of her mind and forced a brilliant smile on her face. She knew Dean would see right through it, but she beamed at him nonetheless. "It's just a little treat for my favorite patient."

Dean's face fell and he stared at her glumly. "Oh."

Angelle felt her chest swell with concern at his reaction. "Aww, Dean! Of course it's for you! You're my favorite little patient!"

"R-Really?" Dean's voice broke on the word and he looked dubious, the kind of expression that clearly says I couldn't dare to hope and believe.

Angelled nodded solemnly. The notion that maybe Dean was badly abused by his parents or family members needled her again and she felt a quick shot of adrenaline in pure fury. Even if they didn't, they neglected him enough to get him hurt as much as this. He couldn't retrieve his memories, but his subconscious still resonated pain.

She approached Dean's bedside and sat beside him. Dean scooted over obligingly, his eyes alight with childish excitement the same way they were each time Angelle brought anything. She knew Dean was trying to downplay it, but he was obviously anticipating for Angelle to tell him it's okay to tear at the packaging.

Settling the paper bag on the table attached to Dean's bed, Angelle watched with joy and amusement as Dean stared at the brown paper reverently. He then looked at her with his patented puppy dog eyes and pouty lips, asking for permission.

"Of course, Deanie," she ruffled his longish dark blonde hair affectionately. "You're my only favorite patient in the whole universe because you are adorable and soooooo cuddly."

Angelle had the pleasure of witnessing the absolute genuine delight in Dean's green eyes before he made a disgusted expression. "Eew!" he protested half-heartedly. "I'm not cuddly!"

The doctor laughed warmly and raised her palms up in a gesture of surrender. "Okay, okay, you're not," she said. "But you know, only cuddly kids can taste this awesome treat I made."

Dean looked at the paper bag once more, subconsciously taking a whiff of the delectable treat. It smelled strangely of cinnamon and his mouth instantly watered in response. This were just the times when his brain would shut down completely and his senses and intuition took over. He rolled his eyes. "Fine. I can be cuddly for today," he sighed in mock defeat.

With another encouraging nod, Angelle urged Dean, "Go on, then, cuddly Dean."

Angelle involuntarily held her breath as Dean eagerly tore through the package. She's never had the opportunity to make pie before, and the few times she really tried to do anything in the kitchen, it had inadvertently ended in inedible lumps of coal or seasonless broth. She followed a cookbook religiously this time, but she still had no idea if Dean would like it. *Come to think of it, I didn't even sample it myself!* Angelle mentally face-palmed.

Angelle was brought back to her sense when Dean spoke, staring at the platter like he feared it would bite him. "P-pie?"

"Yeah. Is something wrong?" She asked automatically, bemused by the little boy's reaction.

Before Dean could answer, however, the shrill ringing of the fire alarm broke through the early morning air. Almost simultaneously, thunder clapped outside, startling Dean, whose eyes grew wide with alarm and obvious fear. As if that wasn't enough, the ground began to shake violently. Angelle shook herself out of her confused daze and grabbed hold of Dean's hand. The pie lay untouched by neithr of them.

"I think we need to go."

"You think, Captain Obvious?" came Dean's snarky reply.

Dean immediately tore the IV drip away from him and hopped out of bed before Angelle could say anything else. Hand in hand, doctor and little hunter made their way outside and into the chaos that was happening in the hallways of the hospital.


	12. History Repeats Itself

**DISCLAIMER: *shattered daydreams, if you know what I mean***

**CHAPTER TWELVE: History Repeats Itself**

When they got out of Dean's room and into the corridor, they were immediately assaulted with the panic of nearly a hundred employees, patients and the patients' families rushing for the strategically-positioned fire exits. There was no smoke on this floor that Angelle nor Dean could see, so they theorized that maybe it was on an upper floor. Neither of them talked of the possibility of it being on the lower floors.

Angelle held Dean's hand in her tightly. She didn't want him to get separated from her in the throng of people.

Before long, they got to the ground floor safe and sound. There was panic and even a short altercation between two families wanting to get to use the walkway with their sick relatives first, but other than that it seemed like the situation was handled fairly well.

Upon exiting the building—Dean had insisted that the other people go first and damn if that didn't melt Angelle's heart more—Angelle pulled Dean up into her arms without a word. She knew how taxing this whole fire thing would be for the boy and she also knew that he was trying to act tough and wouldn't ask to be carried around no matter how exhausted he became. In fact, only his lax grip on her hand cued her in to his fatigue.

She was just about to ask him if he wanted some water when she noticed that a thick dark steam of smoke followed them out from the fire exit. She stared at it curiously, vaguely aware of Dean's head resting on her shoulder, and watched as it seemed to look for something. It was moving about strangely and had a feeling of being…alive. Finally, it seemed to settle above an orderly Angelle recognized to be Arnold. Suddenly, the smoke creature thing entered the man's mouth and his eyes flashed black.

Frozen from shock and fear, Angelle stayed rooted on the spot even as the man—thing, whatever the Hell it was—walked towards them. He smiled wickedly, his black eyes glinting in the sun. It was sick and terrifying, but all Angelle could do was take a step back. Her body wouldn't listen to her. It took her a while to figure out that she _literally_ can't move! It was as if someone or something was stopping her.

Meanwhile, Dean seemed to have fallen asleep. He must have been really tired. It was a small blessing for Angelle. It would scar her young charge even further if he witnesses something as terrifying as this. To her growing fright, Arnold produced a knife from out of nowhere.

"Give him to me and you wouldn't be harmed, lady." The voice sounded like Arnold's, but it wasn't him. He radiated sinister from every pore of his body.

"Never." Angelle forced herself to sound braver than she felt at that moment. She was thankful that her voice didn't waver or shake at all, but her legs were dangerously wobbly and she felt that if not for the force that was keeping her immobile, she would've collapsed a long time ago. "You're not gonna lay a finger on this boy."

Despite her strong words, Arnold was close enough to use his knife if he pleased and there was nothing Angelle could do but shield Dean with her body, once push came to shove. She was serious when she said that Arnold was not gonna hurt a single hair on the boy's head.

Arnold laughed, sending a shiver to run down Angelle's spine. "You're lucky I don't have time to play around."

Angelle saw him stab her well before she felt the incinerating pain on her abdomen. The invisible force that was letting her stay on her two feet disappeared all of a sudden and her knees buckled beneath her. Positioning Dean for the fall, Angelle felt the rush of air as her face connected with the ground.

Awoken by the sudden impact, Dean stared wide-eyed at the sight that greeted him. Angelle was lying on top of him, and some sort of liquid was seeping onto his shirt. A man was hovering over the two of them, a bloodied knife on his hand. The man grinned at Dean from ear to ear, his eyes a dark sinister black that freaked Dean out. "I guess it's just us now, boy."

"D-Dean, you need to go… go get help," Angelle gasped out. Even talking a little hurt a lot, but she had to get Dean away from there. At any cost. If Arnold was willing to stab her just to get his hands on Dean, then she could not possibly let him. Dean's safety took precedence for her. Knowing the boy, she disguised her need to keep him away as a plea to get help.

Before Arnold could come any closer, however, a young boy came into view. He was about Dean's age, with curly blonde hair and a stiff gait. He was wearing a hospital gown. Through the blur in her eyesight, Angelle, barely conscious, recognized the little boy as a patient in the oncology section of the hospital. There was no way he should be here.

The change in the man's stance was not lost on Dean. He saw the way his face changed from a gleeful expression of victory to one of barely concealed terror. "Your kind is not supposed to be here. Not yet."

"It does not matter. You will not take this boy to your master. That is now how things should be."

Dean watched the crazy exchange warily. He was pretty sure that the boy they were talking about was him, but he wasn't the least bit interested as to why they were talking about him right now. All that he cared about was getting help for his doctor. She was looking really pale, and he had a feeling that she wouldn't last long without medical attention. Determined, Dean tried to back away from the orderly and the patient, careful not to catch their attention.

He was just about to take a small step back when an invisible force knocked him over and threw him across the ground. His not-so-healed body felt the crushing weight of said force as his back connected with the wall of the hospital. Holding on tight to his consciousness and fighting against the panic wreaking havoc inside his chest, he grunted in pain and began to struggle against whatever was holding him. _Just where are the cops when you need them_ , he thought furiously.

Dean heard the sounds of a struggle and saw that the small boy wearing the hospital gown was engaged in a heated hand-to-hand combat with the much bigger and bulkier orderly. He doubled his efforts to escape his invisible restraint; Dean wanted to help. He was expecting the boy to lose in a second flat, but to his surprise, the boy placed a hand on the man's forehead. White light began to emanate from where their skin connected and then the man collapsed, boneless. His eyes were burned out.

Suddenly, the force holding Dean in place disappeared. He stood on his own two feet and tried to get his breathing back to normal. Out of the corner of his eyes, he saw the other boy approaching him. Despite himself, he shrunk back in fear. He didn't want to get his eyes burned out. "Stay away!" he screamed at the boy, hating how shrill his voice was.

"Do not be afraid, I will not harm you," was all the other boy said.

"I said stay away!" And with that, Dean turned to run as fast as he could. For a minute, he expected himself to be thrown against a wall again, but a quick glance back told him that the boy had mysteriously disappeared.

Dean ran to where he could hear people. They were relatively close, so it made him wonder how they didn't hear all the commotion that Dean just left. Finally finding someone he recognized, Dean quickly brought them to where he left Angelle. Miraculously, they listened to him without hesitation. It appeared that they have been missing for half an hour already and that the firefighters who responded to the fire alarm were just getting ready to go back inside to see if they were trapped in there.

Dean's heart stuttered in his chest when they reached the alleyway. Angelle was not moving. He closed the short distance between them and quickly went to check for a pulse like she had taught him to. He found none. By that point, Dean was making no effort to conceal the tears running down his face. He was scared and confused and he didn't want Angelle to die. He didn't want history to repeat itself.

 _Wait, what?_ Dean's eyebrows furrowed as the backtracked. _History repeating itself?_

Before he could think about it further, Dean found himself being ushered to an ambulance by one of the nurses. Emotion clogged his throat, and he couldn't find it in him to refuse when Nurse Diane lifted him off his feet. He continued to cry until finally, exhaustion took over and he drifted into an uneasy sleep.


End file.
